Law and Holy Order
by fadedelegance
Summary: Lupo, Bernard, Connie, and Mike discover that there is much more to their latest victim and the circumstances surrounding his death than they thought...
1. The Cadaver in 5E

**Disclaimer: Dick Wolf and NBC own "Law and Order". I don't. **

**A/N: I LOVE writing crime fics. The first two I wrote, "Wall Street Wonder" and "Mission Driven" were completely my own ideas. This one, however, is based on real events. If you want to know exactly what is real and what I made up and altered, just PM me, and I'll be happy to let you know. **

**This fic was NOT INTENDED TO OFFEND ANYONE. I was actually baptized Catholic but now consider myself a Christian Unitarian. Just because Catholicism didn't work out for me, that doesn't mean it doesn't work for anyone else. I SEE AND RESPECT THAT. I'M NOT ONE OF THOSE PEOPLE WHO ASSUMES EVERYTHING ABOUT THE CATHOLIC CHURCH IS BAD. Every religious establishment has its problems. I understand that. The RCC does do a lot of good things. I recognize that. Remember, I've been there. I used to be a member. **

**I would like to first dedicate this fic to all real-life clerics, Catholic and otherwise, who always stand for what's right, even when it gets them vilified, especially Father Conley. **

**For my girls June and Angie. Always.**

**For Linus Roache, Alana de la Garza, Sam Waterston, Jeremy Sisto, Anthony Anderson, S. Epatha Merkerson. L&O for freaking life, despite anything NBC says.**

**Thanks to Legalese for answering all my nagging legal questions. Ha ha! **

**Much, much, MUCH love and kudos, Abby C-: **

**Law and Holy Order**

Setting: Post-"Innocence"

Chapter One

The Cadaver in 5E

Manhattan, NY

Saturday March 20

The bedroom was pitch dark. The young woman herself was a light sleeper. She didn't consider her husband a heavy sleeper, but she wasn't about to classify him as a light sleeper.

Her mind was fuzzy at first, but now that she'd been awake for a bit, it was clearer, and she was starting to feel alarmed.

Their next door neighbor was typically quiet and tended to keep to himself. She had to admit, he gave her weird vibes, but that feeling probably had zero merit. He was probably completely harmless.

So what the hell was going on there?

"Andy?" she said, grasping her husband's shoulder and gently shaking it. "Andy? Andy! Babe, wake up!"

"Whas goin' on?" Andy mumbled sleepily.

"Can you hear that? Listen!"

A silence came as her disoriented husband sat up in bed, like she was—and listened.

"I hear shouting—through the wall," Andy then said.

Suddenly—

Andy said, "Son-of-a-bitch!" as his wife said, "Oh my God!"

The shouting through the wall had become one person's cry of pain.

"Oh my God, what the hell?" the woman said.

"Fucking hell," Andy said, aghast, as there came another scream, followed by a few muffled thudding sounds.

An eerie, uncomfortable silence followed.

Andy had his arms wrapped protectively around his wife. He removed them, pulled back the covers, and got out of bed.

"Jess—baby, stay here, I'm gonna go see if he's all right," he said.

Jess grabbed his arm.

"Honey, don't, we don't know what's going on!" she said. "It sounds like they really got into it."

"I agree, and it worries me," said Andy. "I've got to go see if he's all right. I'll be right back, babe."

"Fine," Jess said reluctantly.

When he reached the hallway, he saw the couple that lived right across from him and Jess stepping outside their apartment, as well. One of that couple's next door neighbors, a grad student in his late 20s, emerged from his apartment, too.

"Excuse my language, but what the fuck?" he said.

"That's what we'd like to know," said the other man, nodding at his wife.

"I was gonna check on him. You guys, too?" Andy asked.

"Yeah," said the other man's wife.

"I think we should all go check on him together—just as a precaution," said the grad student.

"Good idea," said the other man.

The four of them approached the door of Andy and Jess Barton's next door neighbor.

Andy knocked.

"Mr. Dennehy?" he called.

No answer.

Andy knocked again.

"Mr. Dennehy, it's Andy Barton from next door and Rick Delaney and the DeLuca's from across the hall! We just wanted to see if you're okay!"

No response.

Andy knocked yet again, this time a lot harder.

"Mr. Dennehy?" he called.

No reply.

Andy tried to turn the doorknob.

"The place is still locked," he told the others.

Curiosity getting the best of her, Jess had come out of her and Andy's apartment.

"I'm gonna get my phone and call the landlord," said Mrs. DeLuca.

"Good idea," said Mr. DeLuca.

A little while later, Don Raymond, the landlord, reached the fifth floor, skeleton key in hand.

He knocked as a courtesy and said, "Dennehy, it's just Don Raymond the landlord here. You've got your neighbors and I really concerned, so I'm just coming in to see if you're okay!"

With that, he unlocked the door and went inside.

His tenant lay face down on his living room floor in a pool of his own blood, his skull heavily damaged.

"Jesus Christ!" Raymond exclaimed, immediately backing out of the room, willing himself not to vomit right then and there.

Some of his tenants had unfortunately gotten a glimpse of their neighbor, as well.

"Oh my God!" said Jess, as her husband said, "Son-of-a-bitch!"

"Fuck!" yelled Rick Delaney, the grad student.

"Call 911!" Mr. DeLuca told his wife.

Lupo and Bernard arrived on the scene not too long afterward, accompanied by the typical band of officers and CSU techs.

"Let me guess," Lupo joked wryly to the CSU techs currently kneeling down around the corpse, "blunt force trauma?"

"If I've ever seen it," one of them said, shaking her head.

Lupo then went over to where Bernard was. Bernard took out his notepad and a pen to start questioning the dead man's neighbors.

"Found a wallet!" one of the officers called, walking up to Lupo and handing him the wallet and an evidence bag for it.

"Thanks," said Lupo, taking them.

He opened the wallet and took out the man's New York state I.D.

"Conrad Dennehy," he read the victim's name aloud.

"All right," said Bernard. "Who wants to go first?" he asked the neighbors.

Andy and Jess Barton exchanged glances.

"I—I will," said Jess. "I'm Jess Barton—this is my husband Andy."

"Okay, Mrs. Barton, tell us what you heard, saw, everything you can remember."

Jess explained the situation from her point of view.

"About what time was it that you woke up?" asked Bernard.

"It was around a quarter 'til two," Jess replied. "The clock read one forty-seven, one forty-eight—I don't exactly remember."

"Okay," said Bernard. "What about you three? What time did you start hearing the struggle?"

"Our clock on our bedside table was around that time, too," said Mr. DeLuca.

Mrs. DeLuca nodded.

"That's about when it woke me up, too," said Rick Delaney.

"Can any of you think of anyone who'd want to hurt him?" asked Lupo. "Did he have any enemies that you know of?"

"I wouldn't know," said Delaney. "I hardly ever saw the guy. I try to socialize with my neighbors, but I may have spoken to him twice. He seemed like a loner to me."

"Yeah, us, too," said Jess. "He didn't seem to want to socialize with Andy and I, either. Maybe that's why he always gave me weird vibes—because he kept to himself so much."

"'Weird vibes'?" Mrs. DeLuca said. "Try _creepy_ vibes." She then turned to Lupo and Bernard and said, "Our eight-year-old son Robbie is in second grade. Depending on who goes into work first, my husband or I will walk him down to the bus stop in the morning. Robbie and I passed Dennehy a few times, and I didn't like the way he would look at Robbie. He never said anything to him—he would just stare at him. It was _so_ creepy. We never went near him, and we told Robbie not to go near him, either. I don't know, detectives…but he rubbed us the wrong way. I don't even know if he associated with anyone enough to have any enemies. But he obviously did somehow. Damn it, this scary…"

"Okay," said Bernard, finishing up taking down their answers. "Was it a man or a woman he was arguing with?"

"A man," Jess Barton replied.

"Did this man sound familiar to any of you?" Bernard asked.

The neighbors and landlord all answered in the negative.

"Has he had any recent visitors?" said Bernard.

"Aside from the guy that just bashed his head in? None that I know of," Rick Delaney answered.

The others agreed with him.

"Do you know if anyone on this floor had a problem with him? Has anybody been hanging around here at all who normally doesn't? Anyone who seemed suspicious to you?" asked Lupo.

The Bartons, the DeLucas, and Don Raymond all answered 'no'.

"He had to have done all his socializing somewhere else," said Rick Delaney. "I'm sure I speak for all of us when I say it looked like the man was just plain-out anti-social."

"All right," said Lupo. "Well, if any of you think of anything that might be of any help, you just give us a call down at the precinct," he added, handing out copies of his card to all of them.

They all said they would and took the cards.

"Thanks, guys," said Bernard. "Let's go see how CSU is doing," he added to Lupo.

Lupo nodded, and the two of them went back inside Conrad Dennehy's apartment.

"You guys find anything significant?" Bernard asked.

"The guy lived right next to the fire escape," one CSU tech replied. "That has to be how your perp got in. See those blood smears on the window sill? We haven't found any bloody fingerprints, so we're wondering if he wore gloves."

"Thanks," said Lupo.

He turned to Bernard.

"My gut's telling me we just caught a fun one," he muttered dryly.

"We're definitely due for one, aren't we?" Bernard replied in the same tone.

***DOINK!DOINK!***


	2. Gratitude

Chapter Two

Gratitude

The Manhattan District Attorney's Office

One Hogan Place

Centre Street

Manhattan, NY

Monday, March 23

Mike's heart began to pound like crazy as he stepped off the elevator and walked to his office.

He hadn't seen Connie since last Friday. He couldn't wait to see her beautiful face again—more than he usually couldn't wait.

He suddenly realized how hard he was gripping the handle of his briefcase when his hand gave a twinge of pain. He transferred his briefcase to his left hand and tried to control his nerves, so he wouldn't hold on to the handle for dear life.

He then began wondering how he looked. Did he look all right? He ran a nervous hand through his sandy, boyish hair.

And what about his cologne? What if he was wearing an excessive amount so it smelled too strong?

Or what if he wasn't wearing an excessive amount—what if it just smelled bad?

The woman at the 34th Street Macy's had said it smelled good and was a good fit for him. Hell, she specialized in the stuff, didn't she? So Mike, who admittedly didn't know one type of cologne from another, had taken her word for it.

_God, Mike, calm down,_ he scolded himself. _You're going to work, not on a date._

A date with Connie—Mike's heart always leapt at the thought…

Meanwhile, Connie was in the break room, preparing her routine morning cup of coffee.

She'd decided to go shopping that past weekend and had bought herself a new outfit (complete with a matching necklace), which she was currently wearing. She'd also decided to spritz on some of her favorite perfume.

And she'd failed to convince herself that none of it had anything to do with Mike.

Her heart began to race. Mike was due in the office at any time.

Once she'd gotten her coffee exactly the way she liked it, she left the break room and went to Jack's office.

"Good morning!" she greeted her boss and mentor.

"Good morning!" Jack returned jovially. "How are you?"

"Great, you?" said Connie.

"I am just fine!" said Jack. "Is Mike here yet?"

"I haven't seen him. He's probably on his way."

"Have you spoken to him at all since his meeting with the Bar overseers last Friday?" Jack inquired.

"Yes," Connie replied. "I went with him, actually. I stayed out in the hall, though. But yeah—I was there as his moral support. I could tell he needed it…"

Her voice trailed off as she realized her heart was beating fast. She hoped to God she wasn't blushing.

Jack smiled.

"Claire would've done the same for me. I know she would've," he said.

Connie smiled.

"Of course she would've," she said.

Then—

"So Mike didn't call you at all over the weekend?" she asked.

"No, he didn't," said Jack.

"No offense, Jack, but that doesn't surprise me," Connie admitted.

"What? Why? What do you mean?" said Jack.

"Jack, you were too hard on him," said Connie.

"How was I too hard on him? I went and saw Emily Ryan to politely tell her to back off! How is that being too hard on him? I was trying to help him!"

"That's not what I'm talking about," said Connie. "Jack, you accused him of lying to you on his resume—of purposefully deceiving everyone. I bet the reason he didn't call you is because of that. Jack, he wasn't lying to spite anyone or to make himself look good! The only reason he never gave the whole bachelor's degree situation another thought is because of Emily Ryan—because Emily Ryan told him it was just a, quote, 'technicality'. That he did all the necessary work and that his transcripts would reflect that, so it wasn't a big deal. Jack, what would you have done if you'd been in his place? I bet you would've done the exact same thing! I would've! Jack, she was his _mentor_. He looked up to her! She told him it wasn't a big deal, so he believed her! Again, what would you have done? _That's_ what I'm talking about. He didn't cause any of this—Emily Ryan did. Her former protégé was beating her, and she couldn't handle it, so what did the backstabbing bitch do? She tried to ruin Mike's career! How can anyone possibly justify that? Yes, he can get overzealous at times, but you and I both know that Mike doesn't deserve this."

"I totally agree," said Jack. "That's what I told Emily Ryan."

"She knows as well as we do that her crusade was _completely_ uncalled for, but she just doesn't care!" Connie said bitterly. "That _bitch!"_

"I know," Jack said consolingly. "I know."

Connie sighed.

"Anyway—I digressed big time…" she said. "You accused Mike of lying to get ahead when he truly had no idea he was doing anything wrong. That's probably why he never contacted you about his meeting with the Bar overseers."

Jack sighed.

"Well, I want him to know I care about him," he said.

"So let him know," said Connie. "I know he'll open up to you if you do."

Jack nodded.

"You're right," he said. "I'll be sure and speak with him later."

"I'm glad," said Connie.

"Mike's lucky to have you."

At those words, Connie's heart began to race.

"Everyone needs someone to have their back," Jack added.

Again, Connie hoped she wasn't blushing.

"I'd better get to work," she said. "Thank you for listening."

"Of course," said Jack. "Not at all."

Connie gave him a small smile.

She then left his office, made a stop at her own office for her purse and her briefcase, and then went to Mike's office to see if he'd arrived yet.

Once she saw that he had, she entered the room, set her stuff down on the table, and just watched him as he organized his stuff for the day.

Even when he was doing such mundane things as organizing case files, Connie found it hard to keep from staring at him.

_Connie, knock it off, _she scolded herself.

Too late—before she could look down, Mike looked up, and his eyes met hers.

He straightened up immediately, his heart thudding rapidly like hers was.

For a moment, neither one of them spoke. They just looked at each other.

Then—

"Hi, Mike…" Connie said softly.

"Hi," Mike returned sweetly. "How was your weekend?"

"It was good," Connie replied, nodding. "I bet you had a wonderful weekend," she added. "Did you do anything celebratory?"

"I had dinner with my mom," Mike replied with an endearingly bashful smile. "I called her and told her everything was fine—that the Bar decided my license is valid because I meet all the requirements, and she insisted on taking me out and buying me dinner."

"I'm glad you let her," Connie said kindly.

Mike shrugged, another endearingly bashful smile appearing on his face.

"I remember when I first told her about this whole debacle," he said. "She called Ryan some things I'd feel completely un-gentlemanly saying in front of you."

He sounded sheepish, which Connie also found endearing.

"I'm sure it's nothing I haven't heard, Mike," she said with a smile.

"That's true," Mike agreed.

He then relayed to her the slue of insults his mother had used about Emily Ryan.

"Well," Connie then said in a playful, flirtatious tone, "I can certainly tell where you get your eloquence."

Mike looked down at his desk, smiling shyly.

Connie wished she could've told him how much she'd missed his smile. He hadn't smiled at all since before the Stuber appeal landed in their laps.

"You know, Mike—seeing you hurt like that? It…it hurt me," she said softly.

"Connie," Mike said gently, "seeing how angry and embarrassed and ashamed you were when we had to deal with that fucking _stupid, useless_ son-of-a-bitch Woll? That hurt me."

"Mike…"

"It's okay. You don't have to say anything," Mike said softly.

"Yeah, I do," Connie said. "Mike, that was very sweet…_You're_ very sweet…"

Mike wanted to say 'Well if I am, it's because you bring it out of me' but stopped himself.

Instead, he said, "Thank you—so are you…You know—I'm so grateful to you for standing by me throughout this whole mess. It means more than you know."

"You're very welcome," Connie said. "I am so glad the Bar overseers can see reason. Clearly they had no grounds whatsoever to take your license and disbar you. That was a cruel, vindictive, and desperate move on Ryan's part—and not to mention stupid. It had no merit at all…And if they were as idiotic as Ryan and _had_ revoked your license, well, their loss—their serious loss."

Her words deeply moved Mike. And he thought his resolve had been pushed to its limit during the Woll case…

"Connie…" he said, wracking his brain for the right words to express his gratitude.

"It's all right, Mike," Connie said warmly. "I know how grateful you are."

"All right…" Mike said softly, nodding, finding himself wishing for the umpteenth time that he could just hold her close to him. "So…are you ready to get to work, then?"

Connie nodded.

"Yeah," she said. "Which case would you like to start with?"

"How about the Stafford case? I had a brainwave about it around midnight, when I was staring at the ceiling, trying to fall asleep," Mike replied a little sheepishly.

Connie smiled.

"Okay," she said.

About twenty minutes after they'd gotten immersed in the Stafford case, Connie's phone rang, startling them both.

Connie dug it out of her purse and answered it.

"Connie Rubirosa…Oh hey, Bernard…I'm doing just great, you?...Good! What's up?...Okay…All right. Just let me know when you need me…All right. Keep me posted…You, too!...'Bye!"

"What's up?" Mike asked.

"We have a new case," Connie informed him. "An older man named Conrad Dennehy was found beaten to death in his apartment really early this morning—around two a.m. They'll get back in touch with us when they know more."

"Sounds good," Mike said good-naturedly.

Connie smiled at him, and he gave her a sweet smile in return.

***DOINK!DOINK!***


	3. The First Pieces of the Puzzle

Chapter Three

The First Pieces of the Puzzle

Office of the Medical Examiner

Manhattan, NY

Tuesday, March 23

"Morning, Doc," Bernard greeted Dr. Rodgers.

"Detectives," Dr. Rodgers returned.

"What've you got for us?" Bernard asked.

"Typical case of blunt force trauma," Rodgers replied. "Your killer really wailed on this guy."

"You have a guess as to what the killer hit him with?" asked Lupo.

"Well, judging by the indentations the blows made his skull, I'd say your murder weapon is in the neighborhood of a pole or a crowbar—something like that."

Lupo nodded.

"All right," Bernard said. "Thanks, Doc."

***DOINK!DOINK!***

N.Y.P.D. 27th Precinct

Manhattan, NY

A few hours later—

Lieutenant Van Buren came up to Lupo and Bernard, who'd been working at their desks.

"Hey, Lieu," said Lupo, swallowing a sip of coffee and setting down his mug.

"What's up?" asked Bernard.

"How's the Dennehy case coming? You guys talk to anyone who knew more about him than his neighbors?" Van Buren asked.

"Well, he was born and raised in Connecticut and worked there for most of his life," said Lupo. "He was born in Vernon, he went to Holy Apostles College and Seminary in Cromwell—both for undergrad and seminary—and he worked for the Archdiocese of Hartford, mostly ministering at the Cathedral of St. Joseph."

"So Father Dennehy, then?" said Van Buren.

"Yep," said Lupo.

"So who'd you talk to?" asked Van Buren. "Family? Friends?"

"Our good friend background check," Lupo joked.

"His only living relative is a cousin, Helen Farley—lives in New Haven. Dennehy had her listed as his next of kin," Bernard said. "We talked to her about an hour ago. Said she hadn't seen Dennehy in years—not since the party Dennehy's parents threw for him after he got ordained. The last she heard of him was that he went to work for the archdiocese in Hartford."

"She know of any friends he had?" Van Buren inquired.

"Nope. They were a few years apart in age—she's older—so they didn't hang out with the same crowd," Bernard replied.

Van Buren nodded as she listened.

"How'd he end up in New York?" she asked.

"Must've just wanted a change of scenery," said Lupo. "He doesn't have a criminal background—not in Connecticut, not here."

"How long had he been here?" said Van Buren.

"He moved here back in 1993," Bernard answered.

"That's what, seventeen years?"

"Yeah."

"That's plenty of time to make an enemy of some sort," said Van Buren. "Did he work as a priest here, too?"

"Yeah—he worked at the Cathedral of St. Patrick—obviously for the Archdiocese of New York—until two years ago," said Lupo.

Van Buren nodded as she listened.

"So 2008," she then said. "Talk to the priests there. Somebody had to know the guy."

***DOINK!DOINK!***


	4. Spooked

Chapter Four

Spooked

The Cathedral of St. Patrick

50th Street and 5th Avenue

Manhattan, NY

Tuesday, March 23

Lupo and Bernard had already interviewed two of the three regular priests who ministered at the cathedral.

"Well, if somebody here knew Dennehy, then somebody's not talkin'," said Lupo.

"Why would they lie? They're priests," said Bernard.

"Come on, B, you know how secretive these guys can get," said Lupo. "The Catholic Church hasn't exactly been making itself attractive to people."

"They're not all corrupt, Lupes," said Bernard. "Yeah, as an establishment, they definitely need to go through an overhaul, but you can't generalize like that."

They'd been moseying down the church aisle way between the sets of pews.

Just then, they saw a priest they hadn't yet spoken to emerge from the sacristy. He looked like he was close to Dennehy's age.

"Excuse us, Father," said Bernard, as he and Lupo approached him and stood at the foot of the steps up to the altar. "N.Y.P.D.," he added, as he and Lupo presented their badges. "We need to speak with you."

"Sure," said the priest.

He went down the steps and stood next to them.

"Afternoon, Father—I'm Detective Bernard, this is my partner, Detective Lupo," said Bernard.

"Father John Brumley," said the priest, shaking hands with each of them. "What can I do for you?"

"Did you know Conrad Dennehy?" asked Lupo.

Father Brumley sighed.

"Let's go somewhere else and talk," he muttered.

He led them back to the room where the priests administered confession to parishioners.

"Sorry, I know this is cramped, but…at least we have some privacy," he said after closing the door. "It's just…I feel like I shouldn't be talking to you—or rather, I feel like my boss wouldn't want me to talk to you."

"You're doing the right thing," Lupo said.

Brumley gave a wry smile.

"So I take it you did know Dennehy," said Lupo.

"Yes—I did," said Brumley. "Me, him, and Richard Crane used to be the resident priests here."

"The two other priests we spoke to are Patrick Conners and Bartolo Milano. Are they new?" said Bernard.

"Fairly," said Brumley. "They've only been here for two years. They were assigned here after Richard Crane retired and Dennehy…left."

"Why do you say it like that?" asked Lupo. "Did he not leave on the best of terms?"

"That's putting it lightly," said Brumley. "Listen, I don't mean to be cryptic or evasive, but I'm not the right person to talk to. I know the situation but only secondhand. Richard Crane is who you need to talk to. Trust me—he'll be more than happy to tell you everything you need to know."

"So Richard Crane talked to you, I take it?" said Bernard.

"Yes—Richard is one of my good friends," said Brumley. "We still keep in touch—go out for a drink, catch a Yankees game or a Giants game every now and then…Richard is a good man. He was a good priest—not a drop of religious hypocrisy in him. This church needs more priests like him…People are leaving the church in droves, and I can't say I blame them…"

He shook his head.

"Richard set a great example for his fellow priests. And how does Archbishop Dugan repay him? By making an example of him—an example Richard had no intention of being," he said. "Well—I'd better get back to work. We have a large group receiving confirmation tomorrow."

"All right," said Bernard. "Thank you for your time, Father."

"Not at all, Detectives. Unlike _some_ people, I don't have a problem with law enforcement," said Brumley.

Bernard and Lupo exchanged glances.

"Detectives?"

"Yeah?" said Lupo.

"Please don't mention my name," said Brumley. "I don't want my boss to know that I'm the one who led you to Richard Crane."

Bernard nodded.

"Sure thing," he said.

"Thank you," said Brumley, shaking hands with each of them.

"No, thank you," said Bernard.

Brumley then sighed.

"Who knows?" he said grimly. "Maybe it's time I left, too."

As Lupo and Bernard walked out the front doors of the church—

"Wow—something's got Brumley spooked," Lupo muttered.

"No kidding," Bernard said, also keeping his voice down.

After they got in the car—

"Man…something happened that's got Father Brumley scared out of his wits," Lupo replied.

"You're tellin' me," said Bernard.

"I wonder what happened between Crane and the archbishop—why'd the archbishop feel the need to 'make an example' of Crane? What kind of example? And who does Brumley think has a problem with law enforcement?" Lupo pondered aloud. "Moreover, what's all that got to do with Dennehy?"

***DOINK!DOINK!***


	5. Blunt Statement

Chapter Five

Blunt Statement

Apartment of Richard Crane

Manhattan, NY

An hour later—

Lupo and Bernard stood outside Richard Crane's apartment, having just arrived there.

Bernard knocked.

A friendly-looking man who appeared to be in his 60s answered the door a moment later.

"Father Richard Crane?" asked Lupo.

"Call me Richard—I'm retired," Crane said with a smile. "What can I do for you gentlemen?"

"N.Y.P.D.," said Lupo, as he and Bernard showed him their badges. "I'm Detective Lupo, this is my partner, Detective Bernard. You're not in any trouble, Richard. We just need to speak with you."

"What about?" asked Crane.

"Conrad Dennehy," said Bernard.

"I wondered if that was it," said Crane. "I saw the papers…Come on in, detectives."

He opened his door wider, and Lupo and Bernard entered.

"Come in and sit down," said Crane. "Can I get you something to drink? Tea? Coffee?"

"No, thank you, I'm all right," Lupo said.

"Me, too—but thanks, anyway," said Bernard.

"All right," said Crane, leading them into his living room. "Make yourselves comfortable," he added, gesturing at his leather sofa.

Lupo and Bernard sat down, and Crane then seated himself in an easy chair across from them.

"This is a nice place you've got here," Bernard said, looking around.

"Thanks," said Crane. "I guess I'm one of the rare instances where it pays to be a whistle-blower."

Lupo and Bernard exchanged curious glances.

"Sorry," said Crane. "So how did you know to come to me?"

"We just came from the Cathedral of St. Patrick, where we spoke to your friend, Father John Brumley," Lupo answered. "He said you would tell us everything we need to know about Dennehy."

"Definitely," said Crane. "Ask away."

"Well, we left the church with more questions than we went there with," said Bernard. "So Brumley said the two of you used to work with Dennehy at the cathedral."

"Yes, that's true. The three of us worked together until two years ago. Dennehy left, and I chose to retire," Crane replied.

"Brumley sounded uneasy when he mentioned that," said Lupo. "Why did Dennehy leave? Brumley said it wasn't on good terms."

"Not at all," said Crane.

"Why not?" said Bernard.

"Well, it was either resign in disgrace or be defrocked in disgrace," Crane replied. "Dennehy chose the lesser of two embarrassments."

"Why was he going to be defrocked?" asked Bernard.

"Because," Crane replied, "the man was a pedophile."


	6. The Personable Conrad Dennehy

Chapter Six

The Personable Conrad Dennehy

"That's quite an accusation, Richard," said Bernard.

Crane sighed.

"I know," he said. "But it's the truth."

"Tell us everything," said Lupo. "We need to know in case that's the reason he was murdered."

"I understand," said Crane. "Well—I think the best place to start is right when Clyde Dugan arrived."

"Archbishop Dugan?" asked Lupo.

"Yes," said Crane.

"Father Brumley said Archbishop Dugan made a, quote, 'example' of you," said Bernard. "What does that mean?"

"I'll get to that," said Crane. "So in 2005, Archbishop Moynahan retired. For a few months, an interim ran the archdiocese. In early 2006, we got Dugan," he said darkly.

"How long had you been there? What about Dennehy?" asked Lupo.

"I'd been there since 1989. Brumley got there in '87, and Dennehy came there in '93…I can't believe it took until 2006 for me to finally see Dennehy for who he truly is," Crane replied, shaking his head at himself. "I feel like so much could've been prevented…"

"Hey—it's not your fault," said Lupo.

"My partner's right, Richard. A lot of criminals are very discreet," said Bernard.

"Oh I know that," said Crane, causing Lupo and Bernard to exchange curious looks again. "I'll get to that, too," he added, seeing them do so.

Crane cleaned his throat, then continued.

"Moynahan was a great archbishop. Dugan? Not at all…Anyway, so I'd been working with Dennehy going on thirteen years, and I had no idea he was a pedophile until one day, completely out of the blue. I'd been in the sacristy, writing my sermon because it was my turn to give mass that Sunday. I read it over a few times and made corrections until I was finally satisfied with it. And little did I know, the entire time I was back there, Dennehy was—…Anyway, I placed my sermon on the podium, and I was walking down the aisle way to leave because I'd gotten everything in place for mass, when I suddenly see Dennehy and a boy named Derek Poston—who worked a part-time reception job for us—come out of the room where parishioners would come see us for confession. Dennehy took out a bottle of what must've been hand sanitizer and put it on his hands. He then took out a comb and ran it through his hair. And Derek—God, poor Derek…"

"What did he do?" asked Bernard.

"He left—quickly," said Crane. "But not before he glanced at me. The look on his face and the way he just took off like that without a word are what set off the alarm in my head. It was horrible…I don't think I'll ever forget his expression: helpless, embarrassed, terrified…And Dennehy—there's no way he didn't know I was there. He did- he was just ignoring me. And he _knew_ I knew he was ignoring me…"

"Did you ever confront Dennehy about that incident?" asked Lupo.

"I know now that I shouldn't have," said Crane. "But I did. I was just so appalled that I wasn't thinking clearly."

"What did you do?" said Lupo.

"I asked him what he was doing in there with Derek. He said they were just, quote, 'talking and goofing around'," Crane responded, disgust creeping into his tone of voice. "Like I had 'stupid' tattooed on my forehead or something…" he added, shaking his head.

"Did the two of you say anything else to one another that day?" asked Bernard.

"Apparently, what I was thinking was showing on my face because Dennehy suddenly smiled and put his hand on my shoulder and said, 'There's nothing to be alarmed about, Richard. Everything's perfectly normal'—and then he just left…I tell you, detectives, that man knew exactly how and when to be personable. He was a master manipulator. I admit—for a moment, I almost believed. Then I remembered the expression on Derek's face…"

"Then what did you do?" asked Bernard.

"The next day Derek was working with us, I asked to speak with him before he left for the day," Crane replied. "He looked hesitant, but he said he was okay. Because Dennehy had taken him to the reconciliation room, I didn't want to go there to talk to him, so we went to my office. I invited him to sit down across from me after I sat down at my desk. I'd shut my office door, which I was sure was why he was hesitant to sit down. He did, though, and he said, 'What is it, Father?', and I told him I appreciated his help at the church. He thanked me, and then I decided it was time to stop beating around the bush. So I said, 'Derek, I want you to know that you can trust me. I want all of my congregants to know that. Derek—has Father Dennehy done anything to hurt you? I'm talking about last Friday, when the two of you were in the reconciliation room. The way you looked—it really worried me'. Then I asked him if everything was okay and told him he could tell me the truth and that I really wanted to help him."

"What'd he say?" asked Bernard.

Crane sighed.

"He said there was nothing to worry about," he answered. "That…that he and Dennehy were just, quote, 'talking and goofing around'…"

"Dennehy got to him," Lupo said grimly.

"Yes," said Crane. "I know you said it wasn't my fault, but I still feel like I should've run out of the church after him and checked on him. Perhaps then he would've told me the truth…"

"What happened next?" Lupo asked.

"He asked if he could leave—said his mom, dad, or older sister were probably there, waiting to drive him home…" Crane answered softly. "So I let him leave—but I was still going to pursue the matter. The next day, I went to the District Attorney's Office. The receptionist was great. I told her what I suspected, and she told me where to go to find the Special Victims Bureau. I spoke to the bureau chief. She was great. She said she'd talk to the police. She asked me for the best number to reach me, so I told her, and she called me the next morning to say she'd contacted the police, and there was going to be an investigation. I remember thinking there just may have been hope for Derek Poston."

"What happened next?" asked Bernard.

"The police talked to me, too. They said it was because I'm the one who made the allegation against Dennehy…I didn't hear anything for a few days, so I went back to the District Attorney's Office. The bureau chief told me no charges had been filed. At first I thought maybe I was wrong about Dennehy after all—but then I remembered the look on Derek's face, and I knew there was no way. So I started wondering if there just wasn't enough evidence…Then I decided to visit the Postons as a family.

"You see, they used to be pretty active in the church community. Mr. and Mrs. Poston sometimes served as Eucharistic ministers. Derek and his older sister Christina were both in our youth group and were altar servers—so we knew each other. I baptized Derek and Christina, too…So they had me over for dinner. After we were all finished eating, I asked Mr. and Mrs. Poston if I could speak with just the two of them. They told the kids to go do their homework, so then it was just the three of us in their living room.

"I told them I was the one who went to the D.A.'s office—that the reason the police talked to Derek was because of my trip there. I told them how I learned no charges had been filed…We talked about the whole thing…You know—with all due respect, detectives, I feel like this part of the horror story isn't mine to tell. I think you should talk to the Postons about the…details," said Crane.

"Thank you very much for your time and cooperation, Richard," said Bernard. "We'll be in touch, then. Goodbye, Richard."

"Goodbye, detectives."

As they left Crane's apartment building—

"I love complex cases," said Lupo.

Bernard simply shook his head.

***DOINK!DOINK!***


	7. Whistle-blower

Chapter Seven

Whistle-blower

The Manhattan District Attorney's Office

One Hogan Place

Centre Street

Manhattan, NY

Wednesday, March 24

Mike and Connie were sitting side-by-side at the table in Mike's office, a phone book unable to fit in the space between them.

While Connie had been drafting a motion, Mike had read over his rough draft of his opening argument for one of their cases that was going to trial the following Monday. When he'd finished reading it, he'd ask Connie if she would please look it over in case he'd missed anything. She was really good at spotting things he'd accidentally overlooked.

Just one of several reasons he thought she was his other half…

"You have a split infinitive in the second paragraph," Connie pointed out kindly after she was finished reading.

She could feel her heart racing. That always happened when she and Mike were that close to each other. When Mike looked up from the rough draft, and his eyes met hers, she could feel herself blushing.

He always looked nice, but she thought that today, he looked _particularly_ nice. The blue of his shirt brought out his eyes, and was that new cologne he was wearing? The scent of it made him all the more enticing.

"You—you have 'to not believe' written here," Connie said, pointing out the mistake.

"Oh—yeah, I do, don't I?" Mike said, looking down at his error. "Yeah, it should be 'not to believe'. I'll re-word that sentence, then," he added, making a note to do so on the rough draft. "I've probably said this a million times, but I'm grateful that you don't mind proofreading for me. Thank you."

He was gazing at her.

"You're welcome," Connie said, looking in his eyes.

Whenever they sat that close, Connie found it more difficult than usual to fight the urge to reach for him and completely close the gap between them.

For a moment, the two of them just sat there, making eye contact.

Just then, there came a knock on Mike's door.

Mike and Connie snapped out of it, and Mike got up and answered the door.

"Hi, detectives. Come on in," he said, opening the door wide enough for them to do so.

"Hi," Connie greeted Lupo and Bernard. "What's up?"

"Hey," said Bernard. "We're here about the Dennehy case. We just got done updating Van Buren, and because it's a long story, we figured it would just be easier to talk face-to-face about it."

Mike and Connie exchanged glances, silently communicating.

"Sure," said Connie. "Shoot."

At that go-ahead, Lupo and Bernard launched into an entire explanation of everything they'd gathered on the case so far.

After they were finished—

"Wow…" Connie said grimly. "Poor Derek Poston…"

"So," Mike said scathingly, "Conrad Dennehy—devoted clergyman, devout Catholic, and sexual deviant who can't keep his hands to himself."

"Yeah," said Lupo.

"I agree with Richard Crane's suggestion. You guys really should talk to the Postons," said Connie.

"We will," said Bernard. "Hopefully tomorrow."

"I think it's safe to say we've now got our motive," said Lupo.

"Yeah," Mike agreed.

"What about Crane's alibi?" asked Connie.

"We checked it out as soon as we got back to the precinct after speaking with him," said Lupo. "He's clear."

Mike nodded as he listened.

"And Crane didn't tell you what Brumley meant when Brumley said the archbishop 'made an example' of him?" said Connie.

"No, he didn't," said Bernard. "But we plan to find out. We'll be paying him another visit."

"Did he know who Brumley was referring to when he mentioned someone who doesn't like law enforcement?" asked Mike.

"That's definitely on our list of questions, but our guess is Dennehy," said Lupo. "I mean, if _you_ liked little boys too much, would _you_ want law enforcement hanging around?"

"Good point," said Mike. "And about Crane's whistle-blower comment…you said he told you he was a whistle-blower after you complimented him on his nice apartment," Mike said pensively. "That says 'settlement' to me. I think Crane sued someone. Doesn't mean that has anything to do with Dennehy, though…"

He went over to his desk and picked up his favorite, care-worn baseball. He tossed it absentmindedly as he paced.

"And both Brumley _and_ Crane don't seem to think highly of this Archbishop Dugan—but _that_ doesn't necessarily have anything to do with Dennehy, either…" he said.

"We may as well check about Crane and a lawsuit," said Connie. "I mean, we don't have much evidence, and we don't have any suspects. I say it wouldn't hurt."

"I think you're right," said Mike.

Connie smiled at the compliment and then got on her laptop.

"Okay…" she said, once she'd pulled up the database of court records. "Richard Crane…" she muttered as she typed his name into the 'search' bar.

A few moments later—

"Oh my…" she said.

"What?" Mike, Lupo, and Bernard said at the same time.

"Crane sued the Archdiocese of New York for defamation in 2007. His lawyer claimed that they, quote, 'took measures to discredit him' after he reported suspected sexual abuse of a minor to the archdiocese," Connie replied. "The suit was settled in 2008."

"That's when Dennehy 'left'," said Lupo. "Actually, that's when Dennehy had to choose between resigning and getting kicked out—and chose to resign."

"How much was Crane awarded?" asked Bernard.

"Two hundred thousand dollars," Connie replied.

"So Crane tells the archdiocese they've got a pedophile in their midst, so to thank him, they try to ruin him," Mike said dryly. "How considerate…Getting vilified for telling the truth—I can relate…"

"I think trying to smear Richard Crane is what Father Brumley meant when he said the archdiocese—well, Archbishop Dugan—'made an example' of Crane," said Connie. "All because Crane thought Dennehy was sexually abusive," she added bleakly, shaking her head.

"I think Archbishop Dugan was afraid Crane was right about Dennehy—but he cared more about protecting the reputation of the archdiocese and thus his _own_ reputation, more than doing the right thing," said Mike. "So instead of investigating, he decides to make Crane out to be a liar."

"That's just unbelievable," Connie said, shaking her head again.

"That's what these guys _do_, Connie," said Mike. "They don't care about anyone but themselves, so they'll do whatever they have to do to cover their asses. All they care about is staying in power."

"That makes sense—Archbishop Dugan wanting to sweep everything under the rug," said Lupo. "It explains why Brumley was so afraid and said his boss wouldn't want him talking to us."

Connie sighed.

"Well…I feel terrible for Crane, but the main point here is who murdered Conrad Dennehy," she said.

"Yeah," said Lupo. "The sooner we speak with the Postons, the better. This is just a mess."

***DOINK!DOINK!***


	8. Residue

Chapter Eight

Residue

N.Y.P.D. 27th Precinct

Manhattan, NY

Friday, March 26

Lupo and Bernard had been working on a few of their other cases for a while that day. When they were ready to move on, they'd decided to work on the Dennehy case.

Just then, Bernard's phone rang.

"Bernard," he said, answering it. "All right, we'll be right there…Thanks…'Bye."

"What's up?" said Lupo.

"Lab tech wants to see us," said Bernard.

***DOINK!DOINK!***

Forensics Lab

Manhattan, NY

Once they arrived—

"Hey," Lupo greeted the lab techs.

"Hi, detectives," one of the techs greeted them. "I'm the one who called you guys," she added.

"All right," said Bernard good-naturedly, nodding. "Cool. What've you got for us?"

"Well," the lab tech replied, "we found some residue on Dennehy's body, so we took a look at it, and I wanted to let you guys know that we know what it is."

"Awesome," said Lupo. "What is it?"

"Iron oxide," the lab tech replied.

"Okay…" said Lupo, baffled. "Well, Rodgers told us that our murder weapon is in the neighborhood of a poll or a crowbar, something like that, so…"

"Here's the sample," said the lab tech, showing them the stored sample they'd gotten off Dennehy's body. "Just your typical rust. The reddish color means it came from the reaction of iron and oxygen. So your murder weapon could be an iron bar or pipe of some sort. When the iron meets with water or with moisture in the air, like I said—ta da, rust."

"Thanks," said Bernard.

"Sure thing, detectives," the lab tech replied.

***DOINK!DOINK!***

N.Y.P.D. 27th Precinct

Manhattan, NY

When they got back, Lupo and Bernard updated Van Buren on the lab's finding.

"So that narrows it down to everyone in the city with access to iron pipes and crowbars. Fabulous," Van Buren said dryly. "Go talk to the Postons. See if that gets us anywhere."

***DOINK!DOINK!***


	9. The Postons

Chapter Nine

The Postons

Apartment of the Poston family

Manhattan, NY

Lupo knocked on the Postons' door.

A woman who had to be Mrs. Poston answered it.

"May we help you gentlemen?" she asked.

"N.Y.P.D.," said Bernard, as he and Lupo showed their badges. "I'm Detective Bernard, this is my partner, Detective Lupo. We're here about Conrad Dennehy's murder. We're investigating it, and we spoke to Richard Crane already. We were hoping to get your side of the story. Are your husband and your son home?"

"Yes," said Mrs. Poston. "Come on in."

She opened the door all the way, and Lupo and Bernard entered.

"Can I get you two something to drink?" she asked them.

"No, thank you," said Bernard.

"I'm fine, thanks," said Lupo.

"All right," said Mrs. Poston. "Phil!" she called to her husband. "Would you and Derek come out here, please? Two police detectives are here! They want to speak with us!"

A few moments later, Phil and Derek Poston entered the living room.

"They're investigating Conrad Dennehy's murder," Diana Poston told her husband and son.

"We're not suspects, are we?" asked Mr. Poston.

"No, you're not, Mr. Poston," said Bernard. "Please, just sit down and hear us out."

Phil and Derek Poston seated themselves on the couch, where Diana Poston was also seated.

With that, Lupo and Bernard told the couple and their son all about their talk with Richard Crane.

"So what happened?" Lupo asked. "Why didn't you press charges? It sounds like Crane knew exactly what was going on."

"He did," said Derek. "He was spot on…That perverted bastard Dennehy put me through hell…When Father Crane talked to me, half of me was humiliated, but the other half was grateful that someone genuinely wanted to help and wasn't judging me…But I just…Look, I was fourteen, okay? I was fourteen, and it'd been going on for months…He would—he would find me when I was working my part-time job answering the phone, and…and we'd always go some place private—usually the room reserved for hearing confessions…I—I can't go into detail, I just can't. I won't—but you know what I mean…I thought if I just closed my eyes and pretended I was somewhere else, then maybe it wouldn't be so bad—but it was. It always was…

"When the cops were here, I just…I panicked…Dennehy had his ways of making sure I never said anything. I was afraid of him, so it worked on me…He said that if anybody started asking questions, I had to say that we were just 'talking and goofing off' or 'rough-housing'…or 'wrestling'—that was another one…He said what we did was private—that it was just between us and God. So if I told anyone, God would be sad—and good Christians don't make God sad…"

Lupo snorted and shook his head in disgusted belief.

"That was why you panicked," Bernard said.

"Yeah…Because I didn't know what to do—keep quiet or go against Dennehy. When those detectives came, I almost _did _open up, but then I just got so scared thinking about what the bastard said to me—his lie…so I lied. I lied, and I kept his secret…and I still wish I hadn't—I'll never stop wishing I hadn't…" said Derek.

"So then what happened?" asked Lupo. "What did you tell the SVU detectives?"

Derek sighed.

"I told them we were just rough-housing—that Dennehy…that Dennehy never touched me in any way that made me feel uncomfortable," he answered. "So then, like you said—no charges were ever filed…"

"Crane said he came to visit you guys," said Lupo.

"Yes—he did," said Mrs. Poston. "Like he told you, he said he went to the district attorney…He pretty much came to try to convince us to press charges. He's become a family friend over the years, so we all know he just wanted what was best for Derek."

"Of course, Derek had already opened up to us," said Mr. Poston. "Both of us thought we were going to be sick…Derek already _had_ been—a few times."

He turned to his son.

"Yeah…" said Derek. "Sometimes after Dennehy touched, I'd—I'd get so upset and anxious that I'd…get sick. I usually lied and told my parents that I must've eaten something bad…"

"Diana and I felt just beyond revolted and heart-broken over what our son had been through. That sick son-of-a-bitch molested Derek for months—_months!_ And Derek had been coerced and manipulated into silence. We wanted to help him cope in any way we could, so we made sure to get him into therapy," said Mr. Poston.

"When the cops were here, we just…we could tell that opening up about the abuse to _us_ had been extremely difficult. We could scarcely even imagine what it must've been like with two complete strangers asking him what was happening. We left it up to him, whether he wanted to talk or not. We knew he lied—we were right there. But we knew pressing charges only meant more questioning, more focus on him, more stress, possibly a trial where he'd have to testify…We just couldn't put Derek through any of that. We didn't make him tell the cops the truth because we believed he'd been through enough. We just wanted him to have some peace, not more people haranguing him about what had happened," Mrs. Poston said. "However, we did wonder whether there was more we could do. We thought for a while and decided to file a lawsuit against the archdiocese. Father Crane tried to help us—tried to help Derek—and there they were trying to drag his name through the mud instead of doing anything about Dennehy. Because he had the guts to come forward about his suspicion of Dennehy, they decided _he_ was the one who needed to be taught a lesson and not Dennehy. Richard Crane is a good man, and there they were, practically persecuting him, as opposed to investigating that sick and twisted prick…After a lost of discussion, we decided to file the suit—and we won. The judge ordered them to pay us five hundred grand. It wasn't about the money, though. We wanted to make a point. Archbishop Dugan is so obsessed with power and control, so our lawyer told us a good way to get him would be to hit him in the pocket book. She said money and power tend to go hand-in-hand, so we should ask for a large amount…Our suit was settled 2008. We're using the money to help pay for the kids' college education. Our daughter Christina will be a sophomore in NYU next year, and Derek will be a junior in high school."

"That's great, man. Have you started thinking about college at all, or is it too soon to ask?" Bernard said to Derek.

"No, it's not too soon to ask—psychology," Derek replied. "I want to be a clinical psychologist—help others, mainly abuse victims like me."

"That's awesome," said Lupo.

"Yeah, congrats, man," said Bernard.

"Thank you," Derek said.

"Sure," said Bernard. "Derek, do you know if Dennehy was doing to anyone else what he did to you? Any other victims at your church that you know of?"

"No," Derek replied. "If there were others, they never talked to me about it…Going through that—it's humiliating. It's the most humiliating thing I've ever been through. It's not something you just tell your friends about…But if there _are_ others—maybe Father Crane tried to help them, too. Maybe he knows who they are."

"All right," said Lupo. "Thank you very much, Derek. I hope you've at least begun to heal."

"Thank you," Derek said sincerely.

"And again, none of you are suspects, but we have to ask," said Bernard. "Where were all of you on Saturday March twentieth between midnight and two a.m.?"

"We were all here," said Mrs. Poston. "Phil and I both have to be up early for work. Derek has to be up early so he can get to school on time. I went to bed around ten-fifteen, and not too long after that, Phil got in bed."

"It was close to ten-thirty then," said Mr. Poston.

"Okay," said Lupo. "When did you go to bed, Derek?"

"Around ten," said Derek. "I get up for school at six-thirty, so I was tired…We didn't kill Dennehy, detectives. I swear we didn't. Yes, he ruined my childhood, but killing him? When I've got everything going for me? When I'm _finally_ starting to feel right in my own skin? We don't go to St. Patrick's anymore. I've been in therapy. My family's been great by supporting me…Our lawsuit was our retaliation. I'm finally starting to feel some kind of healing, _finally_. If I killed him—if my parents killed him—it would ruin everything for us. We'd just end up in prison. We'd lose everything…Yes, Dennehy is a sick pedophile. But no one has the right to take the life of another person. Murder? That's sick."

"Derek's right," said Mrs. Poston. "Phil and I would never take a life, and we raised our kids to be the same way."

"We'll cooperate in any way you need us to," said Mr. Poston.

"We know," said Bernard. "We appreciate that. So you all won't mind if we take a look around, then?"

"Not at all," said Mrs. Poston. "Go right ahead."

***DOINK!DOINK!***

N.Y.P.D. 27th Precinct

Manhattan, NY

A little while later—

Lupo and Bernard told Van Buren all about their visit with the Postons.

"And we found absolutely nothing out of the ordinary," said Bernard.

"They're clear, Lieu," said Lupo. "What with winning their lawsuit, Derek being in therapy, and their willingness to cooperate, there's no way they're responsible."

"I don't think so, either, but go through their financials just in case. They've got the money—they could've hired a hit man," said Van Buren. "Do the same with Richard Crane. He and the Postons are the only links we have to Dennehy, and we've been tricked before."

"All right," said Bernard, nodding.

"We're on it," said Lupo.

***DOINK!DOINK!***


	10. Smear Campaign

Chapter Ten

Smear Campaign

Apartment of Richard Crane

Manhattan, NY

Thursday, April 1

"So you spoke with the Postons, I take it?" Crane asked Lupo and Bernard, who were both seated on his leather couch.

He handed each of them a can of Diet Coke before seating himself across from them in the easy chair.

Crane's tabby cat had taken a liking to Bernard. He currently sat in Bernard's lap, purring.

"We did," said Bernard, lightly scratching the cat's head.

Lupo unsuccessfully suppressed a smirk at the cat's behavior towards Bernard and then opened his Diet Coke.

"They told us everything, including everything about their lawsuit," he said. "One of our ADAs found out about your lawsuit. You sued the archdiocese for defamation in 2007. And you won—you were awarded two hundred thousand dollars. In 2008, it was all settled."

"Yes," said Crane. "That settlement allowed me to retire—and to rent this place. I've been living quite comfortably."

"That's good," said Lupo. "We figured you blew the whistle about Dennehy, and to show their gratitude, the archdiocese launched a smear campaign against you."

"That's exactly right," said Crane. "When the Postons told me they weren't going to force Derek to deal with the police—when the Special Victims bureau chief told me no charges were being filed—I still wondered if there was something I could do. Dennehy was a pedophile—he was sick in the head. He had no business staying in the church, let alone being around children.

"Because the archbishop determines who preaches where, I thought it'd be a good idea to talk to Archbishop Dugan—see if he would look into the situation. I thought maybe he would press charges against Dennehy—see that Dennehy was removed from the priesthood."

"What happened?" asked Bernard.

Crane sighed.

"I contacted Archbishop Dugan's office, so I could speak with him. It was a while before he bothered to give me the time of day—it took him a week, maybe…Anyway, he finally called me back, and I told him everything, and he said he wanted to meet with me. So a few days later, we had that meeting. It wasn't just myself and Dugan there. He felt the need to bring along a chancery—an assistant priest, which didn't surprise me at all. I came prepared—I brought a tape recorder."

"That's very smart," said Lupo.

"Thank you," said Crane. "Call me paranoid, but I didn't trust Dugan. I didn't want to be set up—what if he decided to twist what I was saying? I had to protect myself. Dugan never gave me positive vibes. I can't even explain why. I don't know…Call it intuition, I guess…"

"So what happened during the meeting?" asked Bernard.

"He asked me what my issues with Dennehy were," Crane replied. "Issues—like_ I_ was the one with the problem."

"What did you say?" asked Lupo.

"I said, 'With all due respect, sir, I already told you. I believe Conrad Dennehy is molesting Derek Poston'. Of course, he was being condescending towards me. He asked me if I had any proof of it, and I repeated what I'd witnessed and what Dennehy said to me about everything being okay. I said I believed he was lying and that the expression on Derek's face told me everything I needed to know. I was blunt—I felt like I had no choice but to be so. I told him Dennehy was a pedophile, and I no longer felt comfortable working with him or living near him. I moved into a hotel not too long after that, actually. That's how disgusted I was."

"Did Dugan know you had a tape recorder?" asked Bernard.

"He eventually noticed it, yes," Crane replied. "As soon as he did, he said, 'Don't you trust me?"

Lupo snorted.

"I know—funny, isn't it?" said Crane, nodding. "But he honestly wanted to know."

Bernard shook his head in disbelief.

"Then, of course, he told me to turn it off," said Crane. "I refused. I mean, if he wasn't afraid I was right about Dennehy, why did he say that? Why the need for secrecy?"

"Easy—fear of a scandal," said Lupo. "You're a very smart guy, Richard."

"Thank you," Crane said sincerely.

"I agree with my partner," said Bernard. "So what happened next?"

"He told me not to use the term 'pedophile'. Oh I'm sorry—did I hurt someone's feelings? Anyway, he told me not to speak of the accusations to anyone, and because I didn't turn off the tape recorder like a good little boy, Dugan put me on administrative leave. You know what he said to me? He said, 'Think about obedience'," Crane replied.

He sighed and shook his head.

"Wow," Lupo said flatly.

"I met with Dugan again to contest being put on leave—also to insist Dugan go to the civil authorities about Dennehy," Crane said. "If the Postons couldn't have him investigated, Dugan _could._ He was the one who could put a stop to that pervert, so why wasn't he? I still can't believe what he said to me. He said I should, quote, 'undergo a psychiatric evaluation'! Can you believe that? Dennehy was_ molesting_ a 14-year-old boy! He was a pedophile, and_ I_ was crazy?"

He sighed heavily and paused as he regained his composure.

"Obviously, I was offended," he then said. "And obviously, I refused to see a psychiatrist…"

"That's unbelievable," Lupo said, appalled and disgusted.

Bernard nodded in agreement.

"I have no idea how the press got wind of the whole thing, but they did. Dugan wouldn't have told them anything—he was all about image and thus, secrecy. Dennehy wouldn't have, either. All he would've been doing was incriminating himself. And Dugan would've threatened all of his cronies into keeping their mouths shut…My guess is that there was a reporter snooping around the district attorney's office or the police station…There was an article printed in the _Ledger_. No one was mentioned by name. Well—except for Dugan and myself. I don't know if they knew it was Dennehy I had accused or if they knew Derek Poston was the victim. I guess that doesn't matter now. Anyway, Dugan said that 'the priest in question' and the boy were just 'rough-housing' and 'goofing off'. Nothing inappropriate was going on. He also said that the archdiocese supports reporting suspicions of sexual abuse to the civil authorities. He said that he told me that, but I had neglected to do so, which was why I had been put on leave. He said my behavior was 'unacceptable' after I told them of my suspicions…He knew _full well_ that I'd gone to the D.A.'s office. I needn't explain to you what Dugan did."

"This is just unreal," said Lupo.

"Seriously," said Bernard. "I'm assuming that was what caused you to file your defamation suit."

"Yes," said Crane. "The first time around, the judge didn't rule in my favor. That, and Dugan threatened to suspend me if I didn't drop the suit…The judge dismissed it, anyway. He said separation of church and state protected Dugan and the archdiocese from punishment by lawsuits…For a while, it looked like the archdiocese was going to get off scot free for sheltering Dennehy and for slandering me—then the Postons filed their suit and won. My lawyer filed for an appeal, and I won. That judge said that I did have grounds for a defamation suit because I was reporting suspected sexual abuse. To that judge, sexual abuse trumps the separation of church and state because it's a serious crime…I took my settlement and retired…"

"So after the Postons won their suit, is that when Dugan decided Dennehy had to go?" said Bernard.

"Yes," said Crane. "I'm prepared to bet Dugan only presented Dennehy with that ultimatum to save face. He couldn't protect his image by sheltering Dennehy, so he had no choice but to protect his image by _removing_ Dennehy."

Bernard sighed heavily.

"You know, Richard, for what it's worth, I really am sorry," he said.

"So am I," said Lupo. "That's just sickening."

"Richard, we were wondering—did Dennehy have any other victims that you know of?" said Bernard. "Like we told you before—we think Dennehy's pedophilia is the reason he was murdered. Did anyone ever come to you saying Dennehy molested them or that they suspected Dennehy was molesting someone they knew?"

"No," Crane replied. "I'm sorry, detectives. Derek Poston is the only victim I knew about…But somehow I wouldn't surprised if there were more. Don't perverts like him usually hurt more than one person?"

"I don't know," Lupo said. "But we're pretty sure Dennehy did. We think one of them killed him."

"God…" Crane said, shaking his head. "You know—I'm not trying to tell you gentlemen how to do your jobs, but have you spoken to Dugan at all?"

"Not yet," said Bernard. "Why do you ask?"

"Because I've been wondering: what if _he_ did it?"

Lupo and Bernard exchanged glances.

"What if Dugan killed Dennehy?" said Bernard.

"It's not like he wouldn't have had a reason to," said Crane.

"What do you mean?" asked Lupo.

***DOINK!DOINK!***


	11. Theory

Chapter Eleven

Theory

N.Y.P.D. 27th Precinct

Manhattan, NY

Friday, April 2

The next morning—

Lupo was in the middle of a huge yawn when Van Buren came up to him and Bernard at their desks.

"Morning, sunshine," Van Buren quipped with a smirk.

Bernard chuckled.

"Ha, ha," Lupo said, though he was smiling. "What's up?" he asked Van Buren.

"The forensic accountant called me just a few minutes ago," Van Buren replied. "She's all finished examining the Postons' and Richard Crane's financial records—no signs at all that a hit was taken out on Dennehy. So back to the drawing board, then."

"Not necessarily," said Bernard.

"You have a reason why we shouldn't officially eliminate Crane and the Postons as suspects?" asked Van Buren.

"No, we can," said Lupo.

He and Bernard relayed to her what Crane had told them about Dugan.

"Check him out," said Van Buren. "We all know we haven't got much to go by in this case."

***DOINK!DOINK!***

The Manhattan District Attorney's Office

One Hogan Place

Centre Street

Manhattan, NY

Meanwhile—

Mike and Connie were discussing a different case, having just come back from court.

Connie was sitting on the edge of Mike's desk, holding his favorite baseball while Mike was pacing around the room, carrying the baseball bat he kept in his office. He was currently leaning it against his shoulder.

"I can't believe him, can you? I never thought he'd pull that! I _hate_ having to do damage control! I thought we had it in the bag!" he was saying. "Damn it!"

"Hey—it's okay," Connie said consolingly. "We'll get him on redirect. It'll be okay."

Mike swung the bat to help vent his frustration.

Connie was amazed he hadn't broken anything yet doing that.

A thought suddenly occurred to her, and she chuckled.

"What?" Mike inquired, baffled.

Seeing him standing there in front of her, with his bat once again leaning against his shoulder and his hair still boyishly rumpled from the breeze outside made her melt. He'd also taken off his tie and rolled up his sleeves. She found him so handsome and endearing.

"How many times did your mom have to tell you not to play baseball in the house?" she asked him, smiling.

Mike gave a sheepish but nonetheless handsome smile.

"A lot—as in, more times than I can count," he said.

"I wondered," Connie said with a mischievous smile, obviously flirting with him.

"Yeah," Mike said, still smiling sheepishly.

Then—

"Thank you for making me feel better," he said sincerely.

"You're welcome," Connie said warmly.

"You're good at that—making me feel better—putting me in a good mood," Mike said gratefully.

Connie rewarded him with the smile she saved only for him.

Just then, someone knocked on Mike's door.

Mike set the bat on the floor beside his desk and then went to go answer the door.

"Hi, detectives," he said, opening the door wide enough for Lupo and Bernard to come in. "What's up?" he added, closing it behind them.

"Hey, guys," Connie greeted.

"Hey," said Bernard. "Dennehy case. We may have gotten something."

"Great!" said Connie.

"Seriously," said Mike. "Tell us everything."

Lupo and Bernard told him and Connie all about their second conversation with Richard Crane.

Connie sighed and shook her head.

"Wow…" she murmured bleakly.

"Son-of-a-bitch," Mike muttered.

"That is just sick," said Connie.

"I know it," Lupo said bleakly. "Just wait, it gets better," he added, turning to Bernard.

"Crane thinks Archbishop Dugan may have murdered Dennehy," said Bernard.

"You just told us Dugan was protecting Dennehy," said Connie.

"He was—but Crane thinks Dugan turned on him," said Bernard.

Mike snorted.

"That makes sense. Dugan strikes me as the kind of person who would do whatever it takes to save his own ass—to stay in his position of power," he said. "'Think about obedience'—if I were Crane, I would've said, 'Why don't you tell Dennehy to think about not molesting underage boys?'…So why does Crane think Dugan murdered Dennehy?"

Lupo and Bernard exchanged glances and then explained the reasoning behind Crane's theory.

After they were finished, Mike and Connie exchanged glances.

"What do you think?" said Mike. "I think it's definitely plausible."

"Me, too," Connie answered him. "Who knows what all that man would do to protect himself?"

"We were thinking the exact same thing," said Bernard, exchanging glances with Lupo again.

***DOINK!DOINK!***


	12. Clyde Dugan

Chapter Twelve

Clyde Dugan

N.Y.P.D. 27th Precinct

Interrogation Room

Manhattan, NY

Monday, April 4

Lupo and Bernard were in the room with Clyde Dugan and his attorney, Wes Flanagan. Van Buren was observing from the other side of the glass window, as was Connie. Mike stood to Connie's right. He was very interested in Dugan's interrogation, so he'd decided to come along.

"I don't know why you didn't want to just talk to us at your home, Mr. Dugan," said Bernard, seating himself across from Dugan and Flanagan at the table. "My partner and I don't mean you any harm."

"This is embarrassing, detective," Dugan said coldly. "I prefer _not_ to be questioned like a criminal on archdiocese property—or in front of my subordinates and fellow Roman Catholics."

"Well, it looks worse having to do it here, just so you know," Lupo said off-handedly.

"You _are_ capable of questioning my client without being a wise ass, aren't you?" Flanagan said snidely. "So let's go, then—time is money."

"All right, then, first things first, Mr. Dugan—where were you Saturday March twentieth between midnight and two a.m.?" asked Bernard.

"I was at home in bed," Dugan replied in the same frigid tone as before.

"Just asking," Lupo muttered.

"I beg your pardon?" Flanagan snapped.

Lupo ignored him.

"I'm busy, detectives. I run an archdiocese for goodness' sake!" said Dugan. "I have to sleep right!"

"So then, what happened?" Mike murmured to Connie. "The Grim Reaper showed up at Dennehy's apartment, and when Dennehy wouldn't just cooperate and die, he bashed the guy's head in with his scythe and left?"

Connie snorted. She loved Mike's dry humor.

Mike gave a small smile, pleased with himself for amusing her.

"Can anyone confirm that?" Lupo asked.

"Well, unless you plan on interrogating his alarm clock, you'll just have to take his word for it," said Flanagan. "He lives alone."

"You _are_ capable of being present for a client's interview without being a wise-ass, aren't you?" Lupo said.

That shut Flanagan up.

"I have a house keeper, but she lives in Brooklyn," said Dugan. "And like my lawyer said—I live alone."

"Okay," said Bernard, taking notes.

"And why, may I ask, am I supposed to have killed Conrad Dennehy? I barely knew him!"

"You barely knew him?" Lupo repeated skeptically. "He worked for you from 1993 to 2008!"

"Which means we were best pals who played golf together every weekend," Dugan countered sarcastically. "Like I said—I have a diocese to run. I'm a very busy man. I don't have time to get to know all the priests I supervise," he added irritably.

"Really?" Lupo countered. "Is that what you told Richard Crane when he told you he suspected Dennehy was molesting Derek Poston?"

"Richard Crane?" Dugan repeated. "You spoke to him?"

"Does that bother you, Mr. Dugan?" asked Bernard shrewdly.

"Of course it bothers me!" Dugan snapped.

"Why?" asked Bernard.

"Because he wasn't about to let you get away with your cover-up scheme?" asked Lupo.

"Because Richard Crane likes to stir up trouble," said Dugan.

"You hear that, B? Is that what they're calling reporting suspicions of sexual abuse these days—'stirring up trouble'?" said Lupo.

"Crane told us all about how he came to you with his suspicions about Dennehy—all about how you just didn't give a damn and tried to sweep the whole thing under the rug," said Bernard. "All about how, because Crane just wouldn't leave well enough alone, you dragged his name through the mud and tried to ruin him…All about how the Postons and Crane had to sue the archdiocese to get your attention. Crane and the Postons told us everything."

"Do you like protecting criminals, Mr. Dugan?" Lupo asked.

"I was trying to keep the archdiocese running smoothly!" Dugan shouted, pounding the table with his fist.

"Hey, calm down," Bernard said sternly.

"Relax, Clyde. They're trying to get you riled up. Don't give them the satisfaction," Flanagan said, giving Dugan a comforting pat on the shoulder.

Lupo and Bernard ignored that remark.

On the other side of the glass, Mike and Connie exchanged glances, silently agreeing on what they thought of Dugan.

To Connie's left, Van Buren shook her head in disbelief.

"Like my client said: he was trying to keep the diocese running smoothly. That is his job," said Flanagan. "What does any of that have to do with the murder of Conrad Dennehy? Crane and the Poston boy got their money two years ago. How does that make Archbishop Dugan a murderer?"

"He sheltered Dennehy—a proven pedophile—to protect his reputation and his position," said Bernard. "He cared more about himself than having an allegation of sexual abuse investigated. Well, everything changed after Crane and the Postons won their lawsuits. If Dennehy stuck around, and word got out he was a proven pedophile, it wouldn't look at all good for your client. So he gave Dennehy the following ultimatum: resign or be de-frocked. So Dennehy resigned. But it didn't end there, did it, Mr. Dugan?"

"What are you talking about?" Dugan asked severely.

"Oh, come on, Mr. Dugan—you remember. Only a few months ago—you received some great news from the big wigs at the Vatican," said Bernard.

"You learned you were in the running for a huge promotion. They were considering making you a cardinal," said Lupo. "And being the big fan of power that you are, you loved that. You wanted that job _very_ badly. But things didn't turn out at all the way you wanted. The powers that be in the Vatican made someone else a cardinal instead. How'd that make you feel, Dugan? Bitter? Angry? Cast aside?"

"Unimportant? Insignificant?" Bernard offered.

"All of the above. So what?" Dugan replied icily.

"So you probably wanted to know why you weren't chosen," said Bernard. "Could it have been that the Vatican higher-ups somehow found out about the Dennehy ordeal and decided not to promote you because of it?"

"If that was the case, maybe you blamed Dennehy. Maybe in your mind, Dennehy ruined everything for you," said Lupo.

"So you decided to punish him for wrecking your plans," said Bernard. "Dennehy wasn't killed with a gun or a knife. He died of blunt force trauma to the head. Someone broke into his apartment and hit him repeatedly with a bar or a pipe made of iron. Now I don't think clerics tend to be gun or knife owners, so if they wanted to kill someone, I doubt they'd go the shooting or stabbing routes."

"You think I broke into Dennehy's apartment and hit him on the head with an iron bar or something until he was dead?" Dugan said flatly.

From the other side of the window—

"Good job," Mike muttered dryly. "Such brilliant powers of deduction."

Connie snorted again.

Both she and Mike had to combat the urge to crack a smile.

"I didn't kill Conrad Dennehy," Dugan said coldly. "I am a man of the church. I wouldn't kill _anyone_."

"Bravo, detectives," said Flanagan. "Just one minor detail: where's your _proof?_ That really is a lovely theory you've got there, but without any evidence, I'm afraid it remains just that: a theory. And I'm assuming that if you really _do_ have any evidence, you would have presented it by now. So I take it you have absolutely nothing substantial linking my client to Conrad Dennehy's murder. Of course, you know that means you can neither arrest nor charge him. Come on, Clyde, let's get you home."

And with that, the two of them exited the precinct.

Once they were gone—

"Well there's a religious hypocrite if I've ever met one," said Van Buren darkly, shaking her head.

Connie nodded and sighed.

She then exchanged glances with Mike.

"But—if you guys explain the situation well enough, and obviously you can—you'll be able to establish probable cause. So we should have enough for a search warrant," she said with a good-natured smile.

"Do you think we can get that sleazebag?" asked Lupo.

"I don't know," said Mike. "I certainly wouldn't put it past him to get rid of Dennehy."

"Guess we'll just have to wait until we search his place," said Bernard.

Van Buren turned to him and Lupo.

"Okay, write up the affidavit, so Connie and Mike can get that warrant. Then I want you to find out more about Dugan. He's our new person of interest. Lucky him," she said.

Bernard chuckled.

"All right, Lieu," he said.

***DOINK!DOINK!***

The Manhattan District Attorney's Office

One Hogan Place

Centre Street

Manhattan, NY

As he drove himself and Connie back to the office, Mike had hurtled a few insults at Clyde Dugan, some of which included "damn religious hypocrite", "power hungry, arrogant prick", and "opportunistic, manipulative son-of-a-bitch".

Connie had told him she agreed whole-heartedly but that he needed to calm down because they had other work to do, and Dugan wasn't worth Mike's energy. She also said she would work hard to make Dugan pay for his negligence—and of course, for Dennehy's murder, if he ended up being responsible for it.

At the moment, the two of them sat in Mike's office, Mike at his desk and Connie at the table. She was researching for another case on her laptop. Mike, meanwhile, was leaning back in his chair, absentmindedly tossing his favorite baseball from one hand to the other, as he stared into space, fuming inwardly about Dugan.

"Mike?"

Connie's voice suddenly brought him back to earth. She'd been talking about some research she'd just found.

"What?" he asked her.

"Did you hear anything I just said?" Connie asked.

"Oh—no," Mike replied. "I'm sorry, Connie," he added sincerely.

"Mike," Connie admonished him gently but firmly enough, "I know what you're thinking, and my answer is no."

Mike opened his mouth to respond, when Jack entered the room through the door normally masked by Mike's dry erase board.

"No to what?" he asked.

"Mike is thinking about going on a crusade against the Catholic Church," Connie told him.

She and Mike had had disagreements and tense discussions before, but they both knew they'd never raise their voices at each other. They hardly even had tense discussions. The vast majority of their disagreements were like this—not angry or even annoyed, just each trying eagerly to persuade the other.

"Connie, look at them!" Mike argued earnestly. "Protecting pedophiles! Being listed by the feds as a possible site for money laundering! The entire Vatican is just one big corrupt enterprise! And then there's their attitude towards women and the LGBT community!"

"I know, Mike," Connie said in a placating tone. "I know. The Vatican needs to root out all the corruption they've got going on. But what you're suggesting? Mike, it's not within our power to go that far."

"She's right, Mike," said Jack. "I haven't been a practicing Catholic in _years_, and I don't plan to start any time soon. I stay far, _far_ away. But indicting the Vatican is not our job. It's way beyond the scope of this case. You have only the best intentions, Mike, and your heart is in the right place. You're a good man, and you make me proud—but you're not launching an inquisition. Not on my watch," he added patiently but firmly. "Now if you two will excuse me, Narcotics needs my help. I'll see you two later."

"Okay," said Connie. "Later, Jack."

"See you, Jack," Mike said, part of him embarrassed about his tirade, but another part of him wishing he could put them all on trial—every single one of them: from the guy who drove the pope mobile to the pontiff himself.

He sighed heavily, bringing himself off the soapbox.

All of a sudden, Connie snickered.

"What?" Mike asked, completely baffled.

"'Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition'!" she quoted, chuckling.

Getting the reference, Mike gave a bright, very sweet smile that made Connie melt to a puddle as she smiled back at him.

***DOINK!DOINK!***


	13. Interesting

Chapter Thirteen

Interesting

N.Y.P.D. 27th Precinct

Manhattan, NY

Monday, April 5

Three days later—

Lupo and Bernard came into Van Buren's office.

"What's up, you two?" she asked them.

"We're done going over Dugan's place with a fine-toothed comb," said Bernard.

"And?"

"Nothing," Lupo answered.

"Whoopie," Van Buren said flatly.

"We just started with the bad news," said Bernard. "We actually found some interesting information on Dugan when we were looking him up."

"What did you find?"

"Listen to this," said Bernard. "Remember how Dugan told us he 'barely knew' Dennehy?"

"Yeah."

"Guess who was in charge of the archdiocese while Dennehy was there?"

"Son-of-a-bitch," Van Buren said. "Get him down here. I'll call his stand-up guy of a lawyer, you guys call Connie."

"Deal," said Lupo.

With that, he and Bernard left to go bring Clyde Dugan into the precinct for more questioning.

***DOINK!DOINK!***

N.Y.P.D. 27th Precinct

Interrogation Room

One Police Plaza

Manhattan, NY

Mike and Connie sat across from Dugan and his attorney, Wes Flanagan. Lupo and Bernard stood adjacent to one another behind Mike and Connie.

"So, enlighten us," said Flanagan in his usual pompous tone. "What are we doing here? Do you actually have something this time?"

"No, we just asked you to come out here because you're so much fun to hang out with," Mike said with a sarcastic smile.

"Aww, you're cute," Flanagan said snidely.

"Thank you!" Mike said with a sarcastic smile.

"What is going on? Why am I here?" Dugan asked indignantly.

"You lied to us, Mr. Dugan," said Bernard. "You told us you barely knew Dennehy. But you've known him since he worked in Connecticut because you used to be the head of the archdiocese there. You two go way back."

"Why did you feel the need to lie about that, Dugan?" asked Lupo.

"Well, you seem convinced that I killed him, so I thought if I mentioned it, you'd feel an even stronger urge to bury me—find me even more suspicious than you already do," Dugan replied irritably. "The last time I was down here and told you I hardly knew him—which is _true_—you didn't believe me. Saying he worked for me back in Connecticut only would've fanned the fire for you people."

"Well, guess what? This way, it looks worse," said Lupo.

"Well, I would sit here and tell you I wasn't lying, but you wouldn't believe me," said Dugan.

"Unfortunately for you, Mr. Dugan, legally, lying includes withholding information," said Connie.

"My partner is right, Mr. Dugan," said Mike. "I know some judges who would call that obstruction of justice."

"What?" snapped Dugan.

"Obstruction of justice," said Mike. "Making an investigation unnecessarily difficult for law enforcement by concealing evidence or information pertinent to it."

"How am I concealing 'pertinent' information, Mr. Cutter?" Dugan said coldly.

"Well, it's quite simple, really. You conveniently left out the fact that you've known Dennehy since the two of you worked in Connecticut together. For all we know, you were trying to protect yourself because you're guilty. That, or you know who _is_, so you lied to make it look as though you're tied neither to Dennehy nor to his killer. You could be protecting yourself, Dennehy's killer, or both of you," Mike explained, a condescending note in his voice.

"Obstruction is so vague," Flanagan scoffed. "You'd be grasping at straws, Cutter, we both know it."

"Would I be?" Mike countered, the condescending note still present in his voice. "I actually think obstruction having a broad definition helps me out."

"Mr. Dugan, I'm sure your lawyer would agree that it's in your best interest to be completely honest with us," said Bernard. "So you knew Dennehy from Connecticut. You were worried about looking suspicious, so you lied about it. Now why would you do that unless you've got something to hide? You have to see the situation from our point of view."

"You now know our theories, Mr. Dugan," said Mike. "Now exactly what happened?"

"Yes, I knew Dennehy from Connecticut. Did I kill him? No," said Dugan. "Like I said before—the night he was murdered, I was at home in bed. And you know what? I'm the one who sent Dennehy to New York. I didn't know the church would be assigning me to the exact same diocese later. I don't get to pick where I go."

"Why'd you reassign Dennehy?" Lupo asked.

Before Dugan could say anything—

"Oh my God," Connie said, realization sweeping over her.

"Because he was doing it in Connecticut, too, wasn't he?" Mike said coldly. "_Wasn't he_, Mr. Dugan?"

Dugan sighed heavily.

"Yes—he was," he admitted reluctantly.

"And don't bother thinking he went to the police," said Bernard. "He didn't."

"Dennehy has no criminal record in Connecticut," Lupo said.

"So you sent him packing—he could just go be some other archbishop's problem," said Mike.

"But oh, the irony—you ended up being sent here, too," said Connie.

"Who were his victims there? Any other victims here? Come on, names," Lupo ordered sternly.

Dugan sighed heavily again.

"From here, I only know about one—the Poston boy," he replied. "I assumed that after he and his family sued the archdiocese, other victims would come forward. But none ever did."

"What about Connecticut?" asked Lupo.

"I only know of one there, too," said Dugan. "But I don't remember the name. It happened years ago."

"Well, you're going to have to do better than that, Mr. Dugan," said Bernard.

"I'm telling you, I don't remember!"

"Try," said Lupo.

Dugan paused for a bit as he thought.

Then—

"It…it was something like Andrews, Anderson, Stanford—something like that. And that is the best I can do, I swear," he said.

"Now that wasn't so bad, was it?" said Bernard, taking down all of the names Dugan had just thrown out.

"Did that victim's family file a lawsuit, too?" asked Mike.

"No. The archdiocese offered them a settlement, and they took it—well, the boy's mother did. Then I reassigned Dennehy to New York, and that was that," Dugan replied.

"So you pay them off and send Dennehy away, and everything's all sunshine and rainbows," Mike said dryly. "You know, you haven't given us any reason to believe you didn't murder Dennehy."

"Well, I will now," said Dugan. "A few weeks ago, this guy came into my reason to believe you didn't murder Dennehy."

"This guy?" Mike said skeptically.

"Yes—a few weeks ago, this guy came into my office," said Dugan.

"What did he look like?" asked Lupo.

"He was young—I'd say mid to late twenties. He was tall—six one or six two…He had dark brown hair and dark brown eyes," Dugan replied.

"Can you describe the clothes he was wearing?" Lupo went on.

"Yes. He had on blue jeans. They looked worn. And he had on a work shirt, as well," said Dugan.

"And what color was that shirt, do you remember?" asked Bernard.

"It was light blue. And it had a pocket on the right side and a patch on the left. The patch had a logo on it—for some company. I'd never heard of it until then," said Dugan.

"What company was it?" asked Lupo.

"It started with an E…Edwards, Ellis, Evans, Ellington—something like that—and then General Contractors," Dugan replied.

"What did he want?" asked Lupo.

"He was pretty angry," said Dugan. "He barged into my office, slammed the door behind him, and demanded to know where Dennehy was—he said it was crucial that he see him. I told him Dennehy no longer works for the archdiocese. He said he knew that. Then I said, 'So why are you coming to me, then?' He said he was sure I knew because the two of us were 'such good friends'—his words, not mine. And I said, 'Well, you're wrong. I don't know. Yes, he worked for me, but it's not like I've been in touch with him since he left. It's not like I hooked him up to a tracking device, so that I can know where he is at all times'. Then he said, 'Quit lying to me, you bastard', and I again insisted I wasn't lying—I truly _did not know_ where Dennehy was. It's not my _responsibility_ to know where my former employees are!"

"Did you tell him all that?" asked Bernard.

"Yes. I did. He then proceeded to tell me to, quote, 'go to hell' before storming out of my office and slamming the door behind him," Dugan replied, traces of distaste in his voice. "I never saw him again after that. I'm sure he was one of Dennehy's little friends—"

"Victims," Lupo corrected him in a voice laced with disgust.

"—but from here or Connecticut, I don't know. I didn't recognize him, and he didn't tell me his name. He seemed to know who I was, though," Dugan finished.

"And there you have it—he's told you everything he knows," said Flanagan.

"We'll be in touch," said Mike.

"All right, then," said Flanagan. "Come on, Clyde. Let's get you home."

He and Dugan arose from the table, and he led Dugan out of the interrogation room.

Once they'd left the precinct, Van Buren entered the room.

"Well—that was interesting," she said.

"Very," said Mike.

Van Buren turned to Lupo and Bernard.

"Let's find out as much as we can about Dugan's visitor," she told them.

"We're on it," said Lupo.

***DOINK!DOINK!***


	14. Mystery Man

Chapter Fourteen

Mystery Man

Ellsworth General Contractors

Main Office

Bronx, NY

Monday, April 11

Lupo and Bernard had just finished describing Dugan's visitor to Fred Ellsworth, owner and founder of Ellsworth General Contractors.

"Does anyone matching that description work for you?" asked Lupo.

"Actually, I've got a few guys who do," Ellsworth replied. "Evan Ricci, Caesar Nuñez, and Aaron Sanders."

"All right," said Bernard. "Thanks."

"Sure thing. Conrad Dennehy…Yeah, I read about that in the papers," said Ellsworth, shaking his head. "Geez…Anyway, it can't be Caesar. He's on leave of absence. He went back to Ecuador—his mother's not doing too well. He left some time during the first week of March. I told him to take all the time he needs. Terrible situation."

"Yeah," Lupo agreed. "Could you give us the other two guys' home addresses? We've got a subpoena right here," he added, showing the document he'd been holding to Ellsworth.

"Of course, no problem—anything to help New York's finest," said Ellsworth, as he got on his laptop, found Evan Ricci and Aaron Sanders' addresses, copied them down, and then handed them to Lupo and Bernard.

"Thanks," said Lupo, taking the slip of paper and putting it in his pocket.

"Ricci's off today," said Ellsworth, "if you were wondering where he is."

"What about the third guy?" asked Bernard.

"Aaron Sanders?" said Ellsworth.

He checked the master schedule he had on his desk.

"He is on assignment today. I've got a renovation project going on here in the Bronx. A married couple just bought a house, and they're renovating. It was built using some materials that are now considered outdated, so they've got us fixing that up for them," he then explained.

"When do your guys usually call it a day?" asked Lupo.

"Our business day is eight to five," Ellsworth replied. "We're open six days a week. A lot of our clients like us to work for them on Saturdays…You really think either of those guys is responsible for…I mean, believe me, I do extensive background checks on every single one of my new hires. Not one of my employees has anything more than a violation on their record, I swear. I don't hire felons. Even if I _did_ trust them, they're bad for business. Name one person who'd let a felon into their home."

"We appreciate your cooperation, Mr. Ellsworth, thank you," said Lupo.

"You're welcome," said Ellsworth. "The important thing is to get a criminal off the streets."

"And try not to borrow trouble, Mr. Ellsworth," said Bernard. "It might not be one of your employees. We've got another lead."

"Either way, I hope you find the guy soon," said Ellsworth.

"Thanks," said Bernard. "We'll be in touch."

As he and Bernard left the office—

"Yeah, I hope we find him soon, too," Lupo muttered.

Bernard nodded.

***DOINK!DOINK!***

The Manhattan District Attorney's Office

One Hogan Place

Centre Street

Manhattan, NY

Mike and Connie had just gotten back from court.

"Well—and there you have it," Mike said of the summation he'd just given. "This was a tough case," he added, as he took off his suit jacket and tie and then rolled up his sleeves.

"It was," Connie agreed.

Their eyes met.

"And I honestly think that was the best summation you've ever given," Connie said.

"Really?" Mike said, honestly surprised.

Connie nodded.

"Yes," she said warmly. "I'm proud of you, Mike."

"Thank you!" Mike said sweetly, truly grateful.

"Of course," Connie said with the same warmth as before. "Um…you know Luke Morris?" she added.

"From Vice, right?" said Mike.

"Yeah," said Connie.

"What about him?" Mike asked cautiously, well aware that Luke Morris was interested in Connie.

"He asked me out this morning," Connie replied.

Mike just looked at her for a moment.

Then—

"Oh," he said.

He paused again.

Then—

"What did you say?" he asked.

"I said 'no'," Connie replied, traces of a smile on her face.

"You did?" Mike asked, unable to believe what he'd just heard.

"Yes," Connie replied warmly.

Unable to help herself, she smiled brightly at him.

Mike smiled sweetly at her.

Connie then looked down at her briefcase, so he wouldn't see her blushing.

Mike looked down and began unpacking his briefcase.

Connie unpacked hers, as well.

The awkward silence was suddenly broken by Connie's phone ringing.

She dug it out of her purse and answered it.

"Hey, Bernard…Wow, okay. Cool…Awesome…Yeah, if I were you guys, I'd go visit him as soon as you can…That is great. We'll take that lead, won't we?...All right. You guys have a great rest of the day!...Thanks!...Bye!"

"What's up?" asked Mike.

"Lupo and Bernard found a couple of contractors starting with 'E': Edwards General Contractors and Ellsworth General Contractors. One guy in particular piqued their interest: Aaron Sanders," Connie replied.

She then elaborated, giving Mike all the details.

"Hm," Mike said, after she was finished. "A renovation project…"

He paused for a moment, then picked up his baseball with the map of New York City on it and began tossing it absentmindedly as he paced.

"Would he have access to anything made out of iron? Any tools that aren't commonly known?" he asked. "Hmm…Is iron used in construction? If so, how? And if it's not, how would he have access to it? A friend or family member, maybe? Is iron at all used in construction—any type?"

"Let's look it up and see," Connie suggested.

"Okay," Mike agreed.

Connie got out her laptop and then accessed the internet. Her heart began to race when Mike leaned in and looked over her shoulder. He was so close that she could feel his warmth and smell his cologne. God, he was enticing…

Connie had to mentally shake herself before going to Google.

She didn't know it, but Mike could smell her perfume and her hair. To him, she was intoxicating. He had to mentally shake himself, too.

"Okay," said Connie. "Is…iron…used…in…construction," she muttered as she typed the words and clicked the 'I'm feeling lucky' button.

A few moments later—

"Mike," she suddenly said.

Mike looked at the paragraph she was pointing at.

"'Cast iron piping was used in the plumbing of houses built in the 1960s and before. Due to its tendency to rust and corrode, it is recommended that owners of such homes have the pipes replaced with pipes made of modern, more durable material'," he read aloud off the screen.

"Ellsworth told the detectives Sanders was renovating a house because it was built with materials that are obsolete now," said Connie. "What if that includes the plumbing?"

"That's what I'm wondering, too," said Mike. "Let's find out."

Connie smiled at him and then picked up her phone to call the 27th precinct.

***DOINK!DOINK!***


	15. Following the Leads

Chapter Fifteen

Following the Leads

Ellsworth General Contractors

Main Office

Bronx, NY

Wednesday, April 13

"What can I do for you detectives today?" Ellsworth asked Lupo and Bernard.

"Is Aaron Sanders still on that renovation project?" asked Bernard.

"Yes," Ellsworth replied. "That one's gonna take a while. Why?"

"This probably sounds random, but we need you to tell us," said Lupo. "Is the plumbing one of the things being worked on?"

"Probably, but let me see," said Ellsworth. "I can look it up for you."

"That would be great, thank you," said Lupo.

"No problem," said Ellsworth. "All right…The Swanson house…Yes—in that one, the plumbing is being completely replaced. When the city inspected the house, they noted that some things would have to be replaced, including the plumbing. The Swansons told us their realtor told them that."

"All right," Bernard said, making a note on his memo pad. "What are the old pipes made out of?"

"Let's see," said Ellsworth, his eyes scanning the file. "Ah—here we go: cast iron. That makes sense. The house was built in 1961…Anything else I can help you with?"

"Nope," Bernard replied, finishing up taking notes. "That's it. Thank you very much, Mr. Ellsworth, you've been very helpful."

"You don't really think Aaron could've done this? He has no criminal record, I checked when I was going over his application!" said Ellsworth.

"We're not entirely sure yet, Mr. Ellsworth," said Lupo. "Again, thank you for your cooperation."

Ellsworth nodded.

"Of course," he said.

***DOINK!DOINK!***

The Manhattan District Attorney's Office

One Hogan Place

Centre Street

Manhattan, NY

Mike, Connie, Lupo, and Bernard were all gathered in Mike's office to discuss the Dennehy case.

Mike had decided to use his dry erase board to help himself keep track of all the details, as he was a visual thinker. He had uncapped a dry erase marker and was currently holding it.

"Okay," he said. "So we've got Aaron Sanders as our main person of interest."

He scrawled on the board.

"Have we ruled out the other man at Ellsworth General Contractors—who also matches the description Dugan gave?"

"Evan Ricci? Yes—he said he was out at a bar at the time of the murder, drinking with some friends," Lupo replied.

"The bartender ID'd him. Plus, when we talked to him, he said he'd never been to a church in his life—his parents are atheists, and he said he and his brother and sister are, too," said Bernard.

"Okay," Mike said, writing down 'Ricci' on the board and crossing it out. "So that leaves Aaron Sanders and the three men from the other contracting company, right?"

"Right," said Bernard.

"Okay, what's that one called?" Mike asked.

"Edwards General Contractors," Lupo replied.

Mike made that the heading of a second column. The first column, of course, was for Ellsworth General Contractors. The suspects' names were written beneath it.

"And the suspects are Ted Andrews, Calvin Anderson, and Rafael Sanchez," said Bernard.

Mike wrote down those names in the second column. He then created a third column for evidence.

Connie was sitting at Mike's desk, in his chair. She had the case file open in front of her.

"Well," she said, "there's the rust forensics found in Dennehy's head wounds. Other than that? Nothing else in the realm of physical evidence."

Mike wrote 'rust found on body' on the board.

"But, we do have the description Dugan gave, the M.E.'s report, and Fred Ellsworth's statement describing the renovation project, which shows that Aaron Sanders has access to iron pipes," said Connie.

Mike made note of all that on the board.

"Okay," said Bernard. "I say we go have a chat with Aaron Sanders."

"I think we can all agree that that's the next step," said Mike.

Connie and Bernard nodded.

"Right there with you," said Lupo.

***DOINK!DOINK!***


	16. Aaron Sanders

Chapter Sixteen

Aaron Sanders

Apartment of Aaron Sanders

Queens, NY

Friday, April 15

When Lupo and Bernard arrived at the apartment, Lupo knocked.

"Hey, police, open up!" he called.

The two of them waited a moment and then decided to try again.

This time, Bernard knocked.

"Mr. Sanders, N.Y.P.D., open the door, please," he called.

"He's home—I can hear the TV," said Lupo.

"Yeah, me, too," said Bernard.

He knocked again.

"Mr. Sanders!" he called again.

A moment later, Aaron Sanders answered the door.

"What's going on? I was just taking a leak," he said, a bit confused.

"N.Y.P.D.," said Lupo, as he and Bernard displayed their badges. "I'm Detective Lupo, this is my partner, Detective Bernard. We need to ask you some questions."

"Mind if we come in?" asked Bernard.

"No," said Aaron, opening the door for them.

Then—

"What could you possibly want with me?" he asked, closing the door behind them. "What's this about?"

"Conrad Dennehy—the former priest," Lupo replied. "He was murdered last month, did you know that?"

"Yeah—I saw it in the papers," said Aaron. "Why?"

"You see, he's from Connecticut. You are, too," said Bernard.

"Yeah, so?" said Aaron. "I'm sure a lot of people living in New York are."

"Well, we think you knew him," said Bernard.

"So all people from Connecticut know each other?" said Aaron.

"We have reason to believe you knew him," said Lupo. "Where were you Saturday March twentieth between midnight and two a.m.?"

"I was here," said Aaron. "Why would I be out? I have to sleep. I do skilled labor for a living. I'm a contractor."

"We know that," said Lupo. "We spoke to your boss."

"He told us you're working on a renovation project. You're helping redo the plumbing in an older house," said Bernard. "Conrad Dennehy was killed by someone bashing his head in with a rusty iron pipe. You, my man, have access to cast iron pipes because you're replacing them."

"So because I'm installing all new plumbing in a house, I killed some priest?" said Aaron.

"That's not all we've got," said Lupo. "We spoke with someone who knew the victim. A man matching your description came into this person's office, demanding to know where Dennehy was—that was a couple weeks before Dennehy was killed."

"So some guy who happens to look like me and have a job similar to mind kills a priest, so just must _be_ me?" Aaron said. "I don't have to listen to this. And I don't have to talk to you, either. This is harassment. You need to leave."

Lupo and Bernard exchanged glances.

"All right," said Bernard.

As the two of them left the apartment building—

"Gotta love it when they're like that," said Bernard, shaking his head.

"Meh—don't sweat it, man," said Lupo. "We'll get to the bottom of this."

***DOINK!DOINK!***

The Manhattan District Attorney's Office

One Hogan Place

Centre Street

Manhattan, NY

Lupo and Bernard decided to pay Connie and Mike a visit after their conversation with Aaron Sanders. They told the two ADAs everything.

"Well, he may not like it that we're on his case, but he's just gonna have to deal with it," Mike said, once they were finished talking.

"Yeah, but I gotta admit, the guy's got a point," said Lupo. "I mean, the renovation project, the description Dugan gave—that's circumstantial, all of it."

"We've been granted search warrants with less," said Mike.

"Good point," said Lupo.

"You know what would _really_ help us?" said Connie.

"What?" asked Mike.

Connie was flattered at his obvious interest.

"If Dugan could pick his visitor out of a line-up," she then said. "That would tell us which of our suspects knew Dennehy. I mean, talk about narrowing it down. We have no eye witnesses, no prints left at the scene, no DNA, and no murder weapon. We've got to do that—because right now, we've got next to nothing."

***DOINK!DOINK!***


	17. Dugan's Visitor

Chapter Seventeen

Dugan's Visitor

N.Y.P.D. 27th Precinct

Manhattan, NY

Monday, April 18

Clyde Dugan had agreed to come down to the station to try to identify the man who had come to see him in his office.

Van Buren, Connie, Lupo, and Bernard stood outside the room, around Dugan.

"Now you've got nothing to worry about, Mr. Dugan," said Van Buren. "You can see them, but they can't see you. So you just look carefully and take your time. If you're sure you see the guy, tell us the number he's holding."

"All right," said Dugan.

"Are you ready?" asked Van Buren.

"Yes," said Dugan.

"Okay," said Van Buren.

Then, going to the intercom beside the window, she pressed the appropriate button and then spoke into it.

"Send them in," she said.

A moment later, on the other side of the glass, four men entered the room and stood side-by-side. They were each holding a sign with a number on it. They stood so that the numbers were in order from left to right. Of course, all of them matched the description Dugan had given.

"Again, take your time, Mr. Dugan," said Van Buren.

A tense silence filled the room as Dugan meticulously studied each man.

Then—

"Number three," he said. "Definitely number three."

"Are you sure?" asked Van Buren.

"Positive. That's him," Dugan said without hesitation.

Van Buren exchanged glances with Connie.

"Okay. Thank you, Mr. Dugan. That's all we needed," she then said.

After he left—

"Geez," she said. "Did you see the way he strutted out of here, like he's completely off the hook because he helped us out?"

She shook her head.

"He's not off the hook," said Connie. "Not if Mike and I have any say in it…Anyway—we'll deal with him later."

"Yeah—it's time for us to have a chat with man number three," said Van Buren.

***DOINK!DOINK!***

N.Y.P.D. 27th Precinct

Interrogation Room

Manhattan, NY

"We've got a problem—well, actually, _you've_ got a problem, Mr. Sanders," said Bernard.

He sat at the table across from Aaron Sanders, while Lupo stood.

"The fucking bastard could've gotten mixed up. I've heard that can happen," Aaron retorted.

Lupo and Bernard exchanged glances.

"Fucking bastard?" Lupo repeated. "Now that's interesting because we didn't describe the person who was trying to I.D. you. We didn't give you a single detail."

"Also, the person trying to do the I.D. can see you, but you can't see them," said Bernard. "How'd you know the person was a man? Lucky guess? Or do you know him? He obviously knew you. Otherwise, you could've gone home like the others."

"How'd he know you?" asked Lupo. "Because you visited him?"

"I want a lawyer," said Aaron. "I'm not saying anything without one here."

After a public defender arrived for Aaron, Lupo and Bernard left for a moment, so Aaron could explain everything to him.

Once he was finished explaining his situation, the public defender, Paul Randolph, stood up and motioned to Lupo and Bernard, letting them know they were allowed back in the room.

"What were you hoping to gain by conducting this line-up?" Randolph asked Lupo and Bernard. "Was this person an eye witness to the murder?"

"No," said Bernard. "This man was visited by another man who came to his office, demanding to know where the victim was. Now, we figure this means the visitor knew the victim, so it's possible he killed him. Did you know Conrad Dennehy, Mr. Sanders? Obviously, we think you did. Archbishop Clyde Dugan picked you out of a line-up, I.D.'ing you as the man who visited him. Do you know Clyde Dugan, as well? We think you do."

"You don't have to answer that, Aaron," said Randolph. "You don't have to answer any of that."

Aaron didn't say a word.

"Do you have any concrete evidence, Detectives? Anything that can lead to you arresting and charging my client?" asked Randolph.

"Not at this time, no," said Lupo.

"Then we all know you have no reason to keep him here," said Randolph. "Come on, Aaron."

The four of them exited the room, and then Lupo and Bernard, along with Connie and Van Buren, watched defense lawyer and client leave the precinct.

"He slipped up in there. Before he lawyered up, and it was just the two of us in there with him—he slipped up," said Lupo. "Like we said—we didn't give him a single clue that it was Dugan trying to I.D. him. How did he know it was a man, unless he had a feeling it was Dugan? He wouldn't have had a feeling it was Dugan unless he visited Dugan. It was him, he _visited_ Dugan. I can feel it."

"I agree with you, but you understand the situation, Lupo," said Connie.

"That was a good idea, Connie, now we know he was the visitor," said Lupo.

"Lupes is right. This means we can call him our prime suspect," said Bernard.

Connie gave a brief smile.

"Thanks, guys," she said. "But that doesn't mean he's the killer—although it's likely. We still don't have a case. But we _do_ have enough for a search warrant."

"Let's get some concrete answers," said Van Buren.

***DOINK!DOINK!***


	18. Search

Chapter Eighteen

Search

Apartment of Aaron Sanders

Monday, April 25

Lupo and Bernard arrived once again at Aaron Sanders' apartment, this time in the company of some uniformed officers.

Bernard knocked.

"Mr. Sanders, N.Y.P.D., open up, please!" he called.

A moment later, Aaron answered the door.

"What the hell? My lawyer said I don't have to talk to you!"

"No, you don't have to talk to us," said Bernard. "But you _do_ have to let us in to search your apartment."

"We have a warrant," said Lupo.

He showed Aaron the search warrant.

Aaron reluctantly stood aside and let them all in. He then remained by the door after closing it, his arms folded.

"This is harassment. I should sue," he said coldly.

"Actually it's not," Lupo called from the hall closet. "Having a warrant to search your place is constitutional. We're not doing anything wrong, so you probably wouldn't win your suit."

Aaron sighed heavily, not knowing how to respond to that.

"No one's harassing you, Mr. Sanders," Bernard called from the bedroom.

Again, Aaron said nothing.

Tension permeated the air, as Lupo and Bernard and their uniformed officer assistants meticulously searched the apartment. For a while, no one said a word.

Suddenly—

"Hey, Lupes!" Bernard called. "You need to see this!"

Lupo, who'd finished going through the hall closet and had been going through the kitchen, told the officer who'd been helping him to keep going.

"What's up?" he said, upon entering the bedroom.

"Look what we found hidden under the mattress," said Bernard.

He held up an evidence bag containing a pair of gloves stained with what looked an awful lot like blood.

"Damn," said Lupo. "Let's look under the bed, too."

"Let's check for loose floor boards, too. I wouldn't put it past him to hide something that way," said Bernard.

A little bit later—

"What about a loose floor board under the bed?" one of the uniformed officers called.

He'd slithered halfway under the bed, so only his legs were visible. Lupo was knelt down, holding a flashlight, aiming the beam of light under the bed so the guy could see.

"There's a loose floor board under the bed?" said Bernard.

"It's lookin' like it, yeah," the officer replied. "Hey, Lupo, shine that light a little more to the left."

Lupo did so.

"How's that?" he asked.

"That's perfect, thanks," the officer replied. "I'm thinking this one here just might be loose. Just a second…"

A moment later—

"Got it!" he announced, after he'd managed to wiggle the loose floor board free.

"Anything under there?" asked Bernard.

"Can't tell yet. Could you lower the light, Lupo?"

"Sure," said Lupo, doing so. "How's that?" he asked.

"Just a tad bit lower…That's perfect, thanks…"

Then—

"Got something!" the officer announced, pulling the object out of its hiding place. "Here," he said, handing it to Lupo.

"Son-of-a-bitch," Lupo said, taking it.

"Damn," said Bernard.

The rusty, blood-stained pipe had been wrapped in a sheet while inhabiting its hiding place.

"I think we just struck gold," said the officer, after emerging from beneath the bed.

The three of them and the other officer who'd also been in the bedroom entered the main room.

Aaron, who'd been staring at the floor, looked up when they came in.

"Are you all done yet?" he asked coldly.

Bernard was holding the evidence bag with the gloves in it, while Lupo was holding the pipe wrapped in the sheet.

"Almost," said Bernard.

With that, he and Lupo handed their gruesome discoveries off to the uniformed officers and then approached Aaron.

"Put your hands behind your back, please," Bernard said firmly.

Aaron looked bitter but did as he was told.

Lupo cuffed him.

"Aaron Sanders, you're under arrest for the murder of Conrad Dennehy," he said, as he and Bernard led him out of his apartment, followed by the uniformed officers. "You have the right to remain silent. If you give up that right, anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law…"

***DOINK!DOINK!***


	19. Offer

Chapter Nineteen

Offer

N.Y.P.D. 27th Precinct

Interrogation Room

Manhattan, NY

Connie and Mike sat in the interrogation room with Aaron and his attorney, Paul Randolph.

"We have to be honest here," said Mike. "It's not looking good for you, Mr. Sanders. There's the evidence the detectives found today, the fact that Clyde Dugan identified you as the man who came to his office and demanded to know where the victim was, your job gave you access to the murder weapon, and no one can corroborate your alibi. The detectives just sent the gloves and the pipe to the forensics lab. All they have to do is match the blood stains on both items to the victim's blood. We've got a strong case."

He looked at Connie.

"_But_ we're understanding," Connie said. "Both of us have a heart, so we're willing to go easy on your client, Mr. Randolph. That is, if what we're assuming is true."

"And what are you assuming, Miss Rubirosa?" asked Randolph.

Connie turned to Aaron.

"Aaron—we know Conrad Dennehy was a pedophile and a child molester. He molested in Connecticut _and_ New York. We know you're from Connecticut, and it's obvious you knew Dennehy," she said understandingly. "Did he molest you?"

Aaron sighed heavily.

"It's funny, you know?" he said bitterly. "How people don't notice, let alone care—how they don't pay attention until something drastic happens?"

He paused for a moment.

Then—

"Did Dugan tell you how he swept everything under the rug so it would be like nothing ever happened?" he said.

Mike and Connie exchanged glances.

"No," Connie said. "But the same priest who told the police Dennehy is a pedophile—he blew the whistle on Dennehy for molesting another boy here in New York. And according to him, Dugan tried to cover that up, too."

"That son-of-a-bitch," Aaron said.

"We're not without compassion," Mike said. "We're willing to offer your client a deal, Mr. Randolph. If he pleads guilty to man one, he'll serve the minimum—five years, as you know."

"That's a really good offer, Aaron," Connie said.

Aaron looked at her and then at Randolph.

"I want to talk it over with Mr. Randolph first," he said.

Mike and Connie exchanged glances.

"All right," said Mike.

He and Connie left the room, so Aaron and Randolph could talk privately.

A few moments later, Randolph opened the door.

"You can come back in now," he said.

Mike and Connie re-entered the room and sat down across from Aaron and Randolph.

"Don't feel as though you have to make a decision right away," said Mike. "The offer is good for forty-eight hours."

Aaron looked at Randolph. Randolph looked back at him.

"My client has already made a decision," said Randolph. "He can't accept your offer."

"You want this to go trial?" said Mike.

"Five years, and he's out. That's optimal," said Connie.

"Weigh that against the other option," said Randolph. "This deal means he's a felon and will go to prison. Extreme emotional disturbance or not, he'll end up in prison. There would be no other possible outcome. Going to trial means everything is wide open. He's sympathetic, Mr. Cutter—Miss Rubirosa. You know it, I know it. And a jury will know it, too. So we respectfully decline the offer. It's a good offer, it really is—but we like our chances. See you in arraignment court and then at trial."

"All right," said Mike.

"What will the charge be?" asked Randolph.

"Still man one," Mike replied.

"All right," said Randolph.

***DOINK!DOINK!***

The Manhattan District Attorney's Office

One Hogan Place

Centre Street

Manhattan, NY

Mike, Connie, and Jack were all in Jack's office. Mike and Connie had just finished updating Jack about the Dennehy case.

"Ladies and gentlemen, your tax dollars at work," Jack remarked dryly in regards to Aaron and Randolph deciding to go to trial rather than take Mike and Connie's deal.

"I wish there was a way to talk him out of it," said Connie.

"He shouldn't have done that," said Mike.

"Shouldn't he?" asked Jack. "It's like Randolph said—his client is sympathetic. You know what's gonna happen. Randolph will put him on the stand, and by the time Mr. Sanders is done talking about his abuse, there won't be a dry eye in the courtroom."

"We expect that, Jack. Don't worry," Connie reassured him. "Besides—Mike's a good manipulator, too," she added, looking at Mike and giving him a flirtatious smile and a wink.

Mike gave a shy, adorable smile, which made Connie's smile broaden.

Jack gave a small smile himself, as he knew exactly what was going on between them.

"Obviously, you two have your work cut out for you. But you know I have faith in you both," he then said.

"Thank you, Jack," Mike and Connie said at the same time.

***DOINK!DOINK!***


	20. Due Process Begins

Chapter Twenty

Due Process Begins

Arraignment Court

Tuesday, April 26

"Docket ending number 7236, the people versus Aaron Sanders, one count manslaughter in the first degree," the clerk announced, reading off a clipboard.

"How does your client plead, Mr. Randolph?" asked the judge.

"Not guilty due to extreme emotional disturbance, Your Honor," Randolph replied.

"All right, then. Bail, Miss Rubirosa?"

"The people request that bail be set at one hundred thousand," said Connie.

"Your Honor, my client works as a contractor. How can he come up with that amount?" argued Randolph.

"Your Honor, the people are trying to be understanding," said Connie. "We have testimony that the victim was a pedophile, and the defendant as good as told us the victim molested him. _But,_ we're also taking into account the fact that man one is a B violent felony."

"That it is, Miss Rubirosa," said the judge. "Mr. Randolph, you have the trial to elaborate on your client's sympathetic situation. Felony charges come with a price—literally _and_ figuratively. Bail is set at one hundred thousand dollars, cash or bond," she added, bringing down the gavel.

***DOINK!DOINK!***

The Manhattan District Attorney's Office

One Hogan Place

Centre Street

Manhattan, NY

Connie entered Mike's office after arraignment court.

"Hey!" she greeted him, setting her briefcase down on the table.

"Hey!" Mike greeted her. "How'd it go?"

"It went very well!" Connie replied. "Bail was set just the way we wanted."

"I knew it would be," Mike complimented her.

Connie rewarded him with a smile.

Mike paused for a moment.

Then—

"So the trial date's been set," he then said.

"Great!"

"Yeah. I figured we should start prepping today."

"Sounds good!"

"Yeah…" said Mike.

He paused again.

Then—

"You know, I—I still don't feel as though I've thanked you enough for being there for me when Ryan was trying to ruin me. I, um…I know I also tend to monopolize when we're at trial," he said, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

Connie found herself melting. He could be so endearing.

"I mean, I—well, you know what I mean," Mike went on. "Anyway, what I'm asking is, would you like to tag team this one? Well, actually, would you like to tag team more often? I mean, God, during the Dresner case, you kicked my ass, so I need to stop taking you for granted in that regard. You're one of the most brilliant people I've ever met."

He then ran his hand through his hair. It fell attractively, which made Connie melt a little more.

"So…what do you say?" he asked, once again awkwardly rubbing the back of his neck. "Do you want to?"

"Absolutely," Connie replied, smiling.

"And like I said, you know, not just for this case," Mike said sincerely.

"I know," Connie said warmly. "So it's decided, then."

"Yeah," Mike said happily. "And you know, Connie—I asked you that because I truly am grateful to you and—and like I said, it's—it's also because you're so intelligent. It—it's got nothing to do with—with the jury…"

Connie knew what he was referring to.

"I know, Mike," she said in a warm, reassuring tone. "I believe you."

She smiled at him.

His heart racing, Mike smiled back at her.

***DOINK!DOINK!***


	21. Physical Evidence

Chapter Twenty-One

Physical Evidence

Supreme Court Trial

Part Six

Dr. Rodgers was on the stand to testify for the prosecution.

"Dr. Rodgers, when you performed the autopsy on the victim, what did you conclude?" Connie asked her.

"That the cause of death was due to blunt force trauma to the head," Dr. Rodgers replied.

"Could you please elaborate for the jury?" asked Connie.

"Yes," Dr. Rodgers replied. "The victim was struck hard in the head with a blunt object. His injuries were too severe for him to have survived them. He sustained very serious skull fractures."

"What did you surmise the blunt object was?"

"Judging by the indentations the blows made in his skull, my guess was that it was something along the lines of a pole or a crowbar—something like that."

"Thank you," said Connie.

***DOINK!DOINK!***

Supreme Court Trial

Part 12

A woman who worked in the forensics lab was testifying for the prosecution.

Mike arose from his and Connie's table and picked up an evidence bag containing a rusty, blood-stained cast iron pipe.

"People's exhibit one," he announced.

He then approached the stand.

"Miss Tate, do you recognize this?"

"Yes, I do. That's a cast iron pipe, and it's the murder weapon."

"How do you know it's the murder weapon?"

"We matched the blood found on it to a sample of blood from the victim's body. The two samples were identical. Exact same DNA."

"All right," said Mike.

He went back over to his and Connie's table, set down the bag with the pipe in it, and picked up a second evidence bag, this one containing a pair of blood-stained work gloves.

"People's two," he said.

Again, he approached the witness stand.

"Do you recognize these, Miss Tate?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Would you please tell the court why they're significant?"

"We did the same thing with them as we did with the pipe—matched the blood found on them to a blood sample from the victim's body. Again, the DNA from both samples was identical."

"Miss Tate, you were at the crime scene, correct?"

"Yes."

Mike again went over to the prosecution table and picked up two photographs that had been enlarged so they would be of better use to the lab techs.

"People's three and four," he said.

Once again, he approached the stand.

"You recognize this first picture?" he asked.

"Yes. It's a photo of the crime scene. I was there as part of the crime scene unit. That's a picture of the window in the victim's apartment."

"What's important about it?"

"There's blood on the windowsill—the victim's. We found no fingerprints belonging to the defendant in the apartment, but we found those blood smears, which led us to believe the killer wore gloves to keep from leaving fingerprints. After the police found the gloves, we went back to the crime scene to sort of re-enact what happened."

Mike held up the second photograph.

"And that's when you took this picture?" he asked.

"Yes."

Mike handed both pictures to the jury, so they could look at them.

"So the first photo, that was taken from inside the apartment?" he then asked the CSU tech.

"Yes."

"And what about the second one?"

"That one was taken from outside the victim's apartment. I climbed out through the window and stood out on the fire escape to take it."

"What's significant about it?"

"There are blood smears on that side of the windowsill, too. Again, it's the victim's blood. No fingerprints belonging to the defendant were left out there, either."

"How, do you believe, were those blood stains left there?"

"We believe the killer broke into the apartment using the fire escape and was wearing the gloves. After killing the victim, he got out of the apartment the same way he got in, only that time, he'd gotten the victim's blood on his gloves, some of which he transferred onto the windowsill when he made his escape. The pattern of the smears is consistent with how he would've had to grip the windowsill to get out. Like I said, once the gloves and pipe were found, we all went back to the crime scene and did a re-enactment."

"Thank you, Miss Tate. Nothing further," said Mike.

When he saw that the jurors were all done looking at the pictures, he took them back to his and Connie's table.

***DOINK! DOINK!***

Supreme Court Trial

Part 21

Lupo was testifying for Mike and Connie.

Before Connie went up to the witness stand, she took the evidence bags containing the gloves and the pipe.

"You recognize these, Detective?"

"Yes," Lupo replied. "CSU concluded that that pipe is the murder weapon, and my partner and I, along with CSU, believe the killer wore those gloves so he wouldn't leave his fingerprints behind at the scene."

"How did you come into possession of these items?" Connie inquired.

"We obtained a search warrant from Judge Davis to search the defendant's apartment for any and all items that could pertain to the murder. We found them hidden in the defendant's bedroom," Lupo answered.

"Would you please explain to the court what you mean by 'hidden'?"

"Yes," said Lupo. "We found both items in the defendant's bedroom. The gloves were hidden beneath the mattress, and the pipe was wrapped in a sheet and was hidden under a loose floor board beneath the bed."

"Thank you very much, Detective," Connie said.

***DOINK!DOINK!***


	22. Dugan on the Stand

Chapter Twenty-Two

Dugan on the Stand

Supreme Court Trial

Part 32

Clyde Dugan was on the stand for Mike and Connie.

"How did you know the victim?" asked Mike.

"He worked for me."

"Here in New York, as well as in Connecticut, correct?"

"Correct."

"Another priest who worked for you—Richard Crane—told you he suspected Dennehy was molesting a fourteen-year-old boy, didn't he?"

Dugan sighed.

"Yes," he answered reluctantly.

"And you failed to report that allegation to the police, correct?"

"Yes," Dugan replied flatly.

"Why is that?" Mike inquired.

Dugan gave a melodramatic sigh of frustration.

"I was trying to protect the image of the archdiocese, and they were awarded a settlement."

"Richard Crane came to you to encourage you to have Dennehy investigated, didn't he?" Mike continued.

Randolph stood up.

"Objection!"

Mike looked a little amused, as though he thought Randolph was being ridiculous.

"On what grounds, Mr. Randolph?" asked Judge Lawrence Holloway.

"Approach, Your Honor?" said Randolph.

"Very well," said Holloway, covering his mic and beckoning to Randolph, Mike, and Connie.

Once the attorneys were gathered around him—

"What's the problem here, Mr. Randolph?" he asked.

"Judge, I'd like to know why Mr. Cutter is doing my cross-examination for me," Randolph replied irritably.

"I thought we couldn't cross-examine our own witnesses. I thought we could only question them," said Mike.

He turned to the judge.

"Your Honor, we have a damaged witness," he said. "The way I see it is a situation where you've got both good news and bad news to tell someone. I just started with the bad news is all. If Mr. Randolph would be patient, I'll get to my good news."

He gave Randolph a sarcastic smile.

"I see nothing wrong here, Mr. Randolph. Objection overruled," said the judge. "Continue, Mr. Cutter."

"Thank you, Your Honor," said Mike.

After Connie and Randolph took their seats, Mike went on.

"So, Mr. Dugan, as I said before, Richard Crane came to you to encourage you to have Dennehy investigated, didn't he?"

"Yes," said Dugan.

"And what did you say?"

"I told him I would handle it."

"And did you?"

"No. Like I said, I was trying to protect the archdiocese. I kept the allegation to myself."

"So you did nothing at all about the allegation?"

"No," Dugan replied curtly.

"Now let's talk about Connecticut," said Mike. "You knew Dennehy from Connecticut, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"He worked for me there, as well; I used to be the head of the Archdiocese of Hartford."

"While you were both there, were there any allegations of sexual abuse made against Dennehy?"

"Yes. There was one."

"Did you do anything about it?"

"Yes. The archdiocese offered them a settlement, they took it, and then I assigned Dennehy to New York."

"Was that all?"

"Yes."

"And now, for the good news, so to speak," said Mike. "Mr. Dugan, you told the police a man came into your office—a man you didn't recognize, is that correct?"

"Yes."

"When was that?"

"About two, two-and-a-half weeks before I read in the papers that Dennehy had been killed."

"What did this man what?"

"He barged into my office and demanded to know where Dennehy was."

"How did he behave?"

"He was furious."

"Did he tell you who he was?"

"No."

"Did he tell you why he wanted to see Dennehy?"

"No. He just said it was, quote, 'crucial' that he see him."

"Do you know how he knew you and Dennehy were acquainted? Did he tell you?"

"No. No to both questions."

"Now when the police asked you if you could identify the man out of a lineup, you said you could, correct?"

"Yes."

"Do you see that man in the courtroom right now?"

"Yes."

"Point to him."

Dugan pointed to Aaron.

"All right," said Mike. "Let the record show that the witness has identified the defendant as the man who visited him to try to find out where the victim was. Nothing further."

He took his seat next to Connie.

Randolph then stood up to cross-examine.

"Mr. Dugan," he said as he strode up to the witness stand, "you are aware that you were protecting a pedophile, aren't you?"

Mike stood up immediately.

"Objection, asked and answered."

"Sustained," said the judge.

"I'll rephrase," said Randolph. "Mr. Dugan, are you aware that sexual abuse is illegal?"

"Yes."

"Are you aware that being sexually attracted to children and molesting them made Dennehy a pedophile?"

Dugan hesitated for a moment.

Then—

"Yes."

"Are you aware that pedophilia is illegal?"

"Yes."

"So you admit you knew Dennehy was a criminal?"

Mike stood up again.

"Objection, asked and answered!"

"Sustained," said the judge.

"Mr. Dugan, are you aware that aiding in the commission of a crime, which includes doing nothing, makes you a criminal by extent?"

"Yes."

"And you made a deal in exchange for your testimony, isn't that right?"

"Yes," Dugan said irritably.

"Did you actually _see_ my client murder anyone?"

"No. But I—"

"So you've cared more about preventing bad publicity than justice for Dennehy's victims like my client, and you never actually_ saw_ my client murder anyone. He just paid you a visit—"

"Objection! Is there a question here?" Mike said, arising from his seat.

"Sustained," said the judge.

"Withdrawn," said Randolph. "No further questions."

"Redirect, Your Honor?" said Mike, arising once more.

"Very well," said the judge.

"Mr. Dugan, why did you feel the need to tell the police about the defendant visiting you?" asked Mike.

"Because I thought it seemed a little odd that that man comes bursting into my office and demands to know where Dennehy is and to see him, and then two, two-and-a-half weeks later, Dennehy just _happens_ to turn up murdered in his apartment! I don't know about anyone else here, but I don't believe in coincidences, Mr. Cutter," Dugan replied.

"Did you know where Dennehy was?"

"No."

"Did you know how to get in touch with him?"

"No. I don't keep track of former employees. I told that young man the truth. I couldn't help him."

"Mr. Dugan, after Richard Crane's and the Postons' lawsuits were settled, did you do anything about Dennehy?"

"Yes. I gave him an ultimatum. He could either resign or be de-frocked—kicked out of the priesthood, in other words. He chose to resign. I have no idea what became of him after that, until I read about his murder in the papers."

"What did you lie to the police about?"

"The fact that I knew Dennehy from Connecticut."

"And why did you lie about that?"

"Because I was afraid. I thought the police were determined to pin the murder on me. I thought if they knew I knew Dennehy, they'd be even _more_ determined. I was just very afraid because I'd never kill anyone. I may be going to prison, but I'd never stoop to murder."

"As for your role in the sex abuse scandal, does the deal you made with us include prison time?"

"Yes. I've plead guilty to obstruction. I will be going to prison. I also submitted my resignation to the Vatican, so I am no longer employed. That wasn't part of the deal, but I did it."

Mike nodded as he listened.

"No further questions," he then said.

"All right," said the judge. "Mr. Dugan, you may step down."

As Mike and Connie left the courthouse—

"Well—that was every last bit as ugly as we'd anticipated," said Mike.

"Yeah, pretty much," Connie agreed. "But Mike, you heard Randolph just as clearly as I did. The only thing he told the jury that you hadn't already was that Dugan made a deal with us by pleading guilty to obstruction because he lied to the police. Other than that, you know as well as I do that nothing Randolph presented to the jury was news. By the time he was ready to cross-examine, you'd already shown the jury that Dugan is no innocent bystander."

"Yeah, you're right," said Mike.

"That was really clever, Mike," said Connie. "You basically _did_ do Randolph's cross for him," she elaborated with a smile.

Mike gave a shy, flattered smile.

"I had to show the jury that you and I aren't stupid—that we know what we're doing," he said. "We know Dugan's an ass, but that's not the point. The point is, he can make Aaron Sanders look awfully suspicious."

"Right," Connie agreed. "And what makes us look even better is that we started with the physical evidence—and how Dennehy was killed."

"Yeah. I don't think this jury can look past that. But what Randolph's doing is pretty damn smart."

"Exactly. Preying on the public's hatred of pedophiles…How many people would kill a pedophile if they could? Hell, I've heard people say they think pedophiles and rapists should get the death penalty," said Connie.

"I have, too," said Mike. "Connie, when you say 'how many people would kill a pedophile if they could', do you mean if they thought they could get away with it?"

"Exactly," said Connie.

She smiled at him.

"And we have to make twelve people see past that," said Mike.

"Go team," Connie said, smiling again.

Mike smiled.

***DOINK!DOINK!***


	23. Derek Poston Testifies

Chapter Twenty-Three

Derek Poston Testifies

Supreme Court Trial

Part 41

Derek Poston was on the stand to testify for the defense.

"Derek, your family used to be practicing Catholics, is that true?" asked Randolph.

"Yes," Derek replied.

"What made your family decide to stop practicing?"

Derek sighed.

"When I was fourteen…Father Dennehy molested me," he answered.

"And how long did that vicious crime go on?"

"For a few months."

"Why didn't you tell your parents after it happened the first time?"

"Dennehy scared me out of it. He would tell me lies that would scare me out of talking."

"What kind of lies did he tell you?"

Derek sighed again.

"His favorite one was that what happened between us was private…just between us and God. So if I told anyone about it, I would make God sad, and good Christians don't make God sad…"

"You eventually did put a stop to it, though, didn't you?"

"Yes. My parents sued the archdiocese."

"The Archdiocese of New York, correct?"

"Yes."

"And you won that suit, is that right?"

"Yes."

"How are you doing now, Derek? Have you healed at all?"

"Yes, I'd say I have. I've been in therapy for the past two years."

"Do you think you'll ever completely heal?"

"I think a part of me will always be hurt by it. I don't think it's something you ever completely recover from, but—"

"How do you feel about Dennehy?"

"I wish the church had pressed charges against him. I also wish he'd gone to prison and had been required to go to therapy. He was obviously_ very_ messed up."

"How does it make you feel that that didn't happen?"

"I'll always be a little bitter, but I guess that's all—"

"Thank you, Derek. No further questions."

"Mr. Cutter—Miss Rubirosa—do you wish to cross-examine?" asked Judge Holloway.

Mike and Connie exchanged glances, Connie giving him an encouraging smile.

Mike stood up.

"Yes, Your Honor," he said.

He approached the stand.

"Derek, would you please give the court your full opinion in regards to Dennehy's lack of legal punishment?" he asked.

Randolph stood up.

"Objection. Asked and answered."

"Well, I would say asked but not answered, Your Honor," Mike said, his expression again showing that he thought Randolph was being ridiculous. "Mr. Randolph interrupted Derek. The people simply would like to hear the rest of what he had to say."

"I'll allow it," said the judge. "Objection overruled. Continue, Mr. Cutter."

"Thank you, Your Honor," said Mike.

He turned to Derek.

"Go ahead, Derek," he prompted.

"I'll always be a little bitter about Dennehy never having to face the consequences of what he did. But I guess it's all moot now because he's dead. I don't like to dwell on that feeling, anyway. I'd like to just keep moving forward—keep working on healing," Derek responded.

"'Keep moving forward'—'keep working on healing'. Are those the statements you intended to make when Mr. Randolph asked you if you think you'll ever completely heal and then interrupted you by asking you how you feel about Dennehy?"

"Yes," Derek replied.

"Have you ever murdered anyone before?"

Randolph was immediately on his feet.

"Objection, relevance! This witness is not the one on trial here!"

"Your Honor, this witness is Conrad Dennehy's abuse victim just like the defendant. I'm trying to prove a point, if Mr. Randolph would allow me to. It's not my problem if he doesn't like it that I'm blunt," said Mike.

"That's a good point, Mr. Cutter. Mr. Randolph, your objection is overruled. If either of you oversteps the line, I'll be the first to tell you," said the judge. "The witness will answer the question."

"No. I haven't," said Derek.

"_Would_ you ever kill someone? Has the thought ever seriously crossed your mind?"

"No. No to both questions," Derek replied.

"Why not?" Mike continued.

"Because it's wrong. And not to mention cruel and immoral," said Derek. "Plus, in a way, it's arrogant. No one has the right to decide when a person's life ends, except that person him- or herself. That's what I believe. Murder goes against my personal beliefs. That, and it's against the law."

"But what about criminals—violent criminals? Murderers, rapists—pedophiles? What about people like that? What about people like Conrad Dennehy?"

"I wouldn't kill any of them, either. I can understand why people think they deserve to die—they hurt others. I'm not trying to be self-righteous at all, and I apologize if I'm coming off that way. This is just my own personal opinion. But people like that are why we have laws. They can be punished if you let the system work, you know? Like I said, I believe it's wrong, immoral, and cruel to kill people. Besides, if I killed someone who hurt me badly, it would just end worse for me, I think. I'd just end up going to prison and having a felony on my record. I also believe that killing someone out of revenge makes me no better than him or her, and I don't want to be like that. Am I angry that Dennehy never had to pay for what he did? Hell yeah, I'm furious. I'll always be furious. But would I ever resort to killing? No, Mr. Cutter. I wouldn't."

"Nothing further," Mike then said.

As Mike and Connie walked down the courthouse steps—

"That went great," Connie said.

"Didn't it, though? Wow," said Mike.

"And the jury appeared receptive to what he said," Connie said. "But the best is yet to come. Randolph has yet to bring out the heavy artillery—Aaron Sanders and his mom. I've got my work cut out for me."

"No," Mike said sweetly, softening. "Randolph does. He should be worried."

Connie rewarded him with a bright smile that made his breath catch in his throat.

***DOINK!DOINK!***


	24. Sympathy Card

Chapter Twenty-Four

Sympathy Card

Supreme Court Trial

Part 50

Aaron Sanders' mother was on the stand for the defense.

"It was always just Aaron and I," she said. "I was never lucky when it came to love. I've never been married. When I was in college, I was dating his father. I was nineteen when I found out I was pregnant. I didn't know what to do. I had very little money and was working two jobs to pay my tuition. I ended up dropping out because I just couldn't handle it all. And of course, Aaron's father wanted nothing to do with his own child. I never heard from him again. So that was how it was—me working two jobs to support myself and my son. After he graduated high school, Aaron went to a nice trade school, and he's been working in construction."

"The two of you used to be practicing Catholics, correct?" asked Randolph.

"That's correct."

"But you aren't anymore?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because of what that perverted faggot did to my son."

"Watch your language, Miss Sanders," said the judge.

"Sorry, Your Honor," said Miss Sanders, though she hardly sounded so.

"What did you do when Aaron told you what happened—what had _been_ happening?" said Randolph.

"I hugged him and told him I was so, _so_ very sorry that that happened to him. It explained a lot—why he'd been having trouble sleeping, why he'd throw up sometimes…why he'd sometimes have nightmares and wet the bed, even though he was nine…I cried so hard alone in my room after he went to bed. I cried so hard my stomach hurt, and I was too anxious to sleep. I felt like it was my fault—I still do. If I hadn't let him be an alter server, that sissy queer never would've touched him. It's my fault."

"Miss Sanders, you had no idea Dennehy was a pedophile. It's not your fault at all. So what did you decide to do after you learned the truth?" asked Randolph.

"I knew I had to put a stop to it in any way I could. We stopped going to church. We also moved so Aaron could have a fresh start. I was afraid that if anyone back in Hartford found out what had happened to him, they would treat him differently—pick on him, call him names, accuse him of being a queer, crap like that."

"Did you do anything else besides those two things?"

"Yes. I went and saw the archbishop to tell him he had a perverted sissy for a priest who'd been molesting my boy. I told him we'd sue if I could've afforded a lawyer."

"And what did the archbishop do?"

"He said he would take care of it, so I trusted that he would."

"And did he?"

"I met with him and a couple lawyers—a couple lawyers for the archdiocese, and they offered me a settlement. Two hundred thousand dollars—I'd never been offered so much money in my life. Why the hell wouldn't I take it? I barely made enough money working my two jobs. I used it to help Aaron and I start over…They should've sent that sick pansy to prison for what he did to my son—and that poor other boy. But they didn't. Instead, I learned by attending this trial that they just sent him off here. They protected that sick pervert, instead of innocent children like my son! What kind of sick, depraved people do such a thing? I suppose I should be thankful they did anything at all—but then I just go back to thinking that it wasn't enough…that they really just didn't give a damn! I didn't want to be bought off like that, but I needed the money for Aaron and myself. I know it was a pay-off, but I wasn't making much money with two damn jobs, and the offer was right there…I wish we'd never set foot in that church. That way, my son never would've been preyed on like that…"

She sniffled and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.

"I put my son in harm's way. I put my child in danger. What kind of mother does that?" she then said.

She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand again.

Randolph paused to let everything she said sink in.

Then—

"Again, it wasn't your fault, Miss Sanders. The church let you down," he said.

As he made his way back to his table—

"Your witness," he said to Mike and Connie.

Mike and Connie exchanged glances. Mike's expression was soft and encouraging. Connie gave him a smile and then arose to do the cross-examination.

"Miss Sanders, do you know why psychotherapy, more commonly known as counseling, is?" she asked.

"Doesn't everyone?" Miss Sanders replied.

"I'm not asking everyone. I'm asking you," said Connie.

She could feel Mike's beautiful, intense eyes on her. She really wanted to look at him but knew she had to stay focused. She could always look at him—or rather, the two of them could always talk—after their day in court…

"Yes, I know what it is," Miss Sanders replied.

"Do you know that it's available for sexual abuse victims?"

"Yes. I suppose it is."

"You suppose or you know?" Connie pressed.

"I know…" Miss Sanders replied softly.

"So that means you must've known it was an option for your son, then?"

"Yes. I guess it was."

"You guess or you knew?"

"I knew, then…"

"Did one or both of your employers at the time offer health insurance?"

"One of them did, yes."

"So you had health insurance for yourself and your son?"

"Yes."

"So odds are, you could've afforded to put Aaron in therapy to help him cope with having been abused, especially after getting that two hundred thousand dollar settlement, wouldn't you say?"

"Are you calling me a bad parent?"

"Absolutely not," Connie answered calmly. "Did you know that Aaron would've been helped by an expert—a psychologist or psychiatrist?"

Miss Sanders sighed.

"They're the ones that give counseling, aren't they?"

"I take it that's a 'yes', then?"

"Yes…"

"So you know what counseling is, you knew it was an option for Aaron, you knew he would've received help from an expert, and you knew insurance and the settlement both helped make therapy affordable. So why didn't you put Aaron in therapy?"

"I don't know, okay? I don't know!" Miss Sanders answered exasperatedly. "It just didn't occur to me! I don't know why! I don't know what you want me to say!"

"We just want honest answers, Miss Sanders. Nothing more, nothing less," Connie said calmly and patiently.

"Do you need a moment to calm down, Miss Sanders?" asked the judge.

Miss Sanders took a deep breath.

"I'm fine, judge," she said.

"Very well," said Judge Holloway. "You may continue, Miss Rubirosa."

"Thank you, Your Honor," Connie said respectfully. "Miss Sanders, are you aware of Connecticut's statue of limitations on child sexual abuse?"

"No."

"It says that child sexual abuse cases can be prosecuted up to thirty years after the victim turns eighteen or up to five years from the date the victim reports the crime to the police or to a prosecutor. Had you gone to either a police officer or a prosecutor, either one would've let you know that—they would've let you know that there was plenty of time to get Dennehy convicted. When it became clear that all the Archdiocese of Hartford was going to do was offer you a settlement, why did you go to the police or to the District Attorney's office?"

"I don't know…I was just focused on getting Aaron and I out of there—on getting us a fresh start."

"You said before that you wanted Dennehy to go to prison, correct?"

"Yes."

"No further questions."

As she and Mike left the courthouse—

"Connie—that was just brilliant," Mike complimented sweetly.

Connie smiled warmly at him.

"Thank you, Mike. That means a lot. It really does," she said.

"I knew it would be, though," Mike said. "And listen to her," he went on, referring to Aaron Sanders' mother. "We all know she's sympathetic because her son was molested, but come on—she wasn't powerless to do anything about it. If I were her, I would've gone to the police."

"And gotten Aaron into therapy," said Connie.

"Right," said Mike. "How is it that neither of those things occurred to her? I mean, she didn't even have any excuses for you! Her son went through one of the worst things a person can go through, but she didn't even think to do either of those things."

"Believe me, Mike, I don't understand it any more than you do," Connie said truthfully. "Who knows what was going through her head at the time?"

"You were brilliant, Connie," Mike said sweetly. "You really were. We both know answering 'I don't know' to such questions doesn't sit well with most juries. You showed this jury that she was thoughtless and didn't handle the situation as well as she should have. She should've helped her son more, plain and simple…You're a brilliant attorney…"

"Thank you, Mike—_so_ much," Connie said sincerely, moved.

"You're welcome," Mike said softly.

"And I don't know what the majority of the jury was thinking about this, but did you also notice she's a homophobe?" said Connie.

"'Perverted faggot'?" Mike quoted Miss Sanders dryly. "How classy."

"Seriously," Connie agreed. "Obviously I gave people in general too much credit in terms of knowing one, that homosexuality and pedophilia are _not_ synonymous, and two, that sexual abuse, sexual assault, and rape aren't about sex—they're about control and degradation."

"Well people in general aren't as intelligent as you," Mike complimented her.

"Or as you," Connie returned the compliment.

Mike melted.

"Thank you," he said.

"You're welcome," Connie said sincerely.

"So do you think Sanders' mother being a homophobe could help our case?" Mike then asked.

"It might," Connie replied. "I don't know how many of our jurors support LGBT equality, aside from the one who's gay."

"One of them's gay?" Mike asked. "Which one?"

"He's been sitting in the second row, two seats from the left end," Connie replied.

Mike thought for a moment.

Then—

"Oh!" he said, getting it. "Okay, him…He's gay?"

"Oh yeah, I can tell," said Connie.

"Damn…I can't even imagine what must've been going through his head…"

"Same here."

"Hell,_ I_ was offended."

"So was I…And of course you were offended. You're not a bigot."

"Yeah," Mike said, flattered. "So you must be good at being able to tell when a man's gay."

Connie chuckled.

"I can't _always_ tell," she said. "Yes, one of my closest friends I met in college is gay. But there was this time in law school—I made such an ass of myself."

"What happened?" Mike asked.

"I was on the mock trial team. So was he. I had a huge crush on him. Well, one weekend, we did really well at a competition. I was just feeling really happy about everything so I just figured, hey, why not throw caution into the winds? So I did. I asked him if he'd like to go on a 'coffee date' with me—nothing high-pressure or too fancy. It would be low-key, and we could just relax and chat," Connie replied.

"What happened next? Why is that embarrassing? That sounds enjoyable," said Mike.

"He said, 'That sounds great, Connie. You're a really cool person, and you're very sweet, but the thing is, I'm gay'. I was so embarrassed. He and I had become good friends, he's gay, but I asked him out. I was afraid I'd just made things so awkward between us that he wouldn't want to be friends anymore. I told him I was sorry and that I had no idea he's gay because I honestly didn't. I also mentioned being afraid of making things awkward."

"Why would you have made things awkward? Like you said, Connie, you didn't know," Mike said understandingly.

"Thankfully, that's what he thought," said Connie. "And you know what?"

"What?"

"He said he was actually pretty flattered that I asked him out."

"Who _wouldn't_ be?" Mike said.

At that, Connie melted to a puddle. She could feel herself blushing and couldn't help but smile.

Mike felt a rush.

Connie didn't know how to verbalize how sweet she found that remark, so she could only show him.

"Well," Mike said, "I'm sure he's the only man who's ever rejected you."

Connie felt herself blush again. She looked down at the sidewalk as a grin spread across her face.

***DOINK!DOINK!***


	25. Aaron's Testimony

**A/N****: This chapter is rated M for descriptions of sexual abuse.**

Chapter Twenty-Five

Aaron's Testimony

Supreme Court Trial

Part 62

Aaron Sanders was on the stand.

"Aaron, you were sexually abused, correct?" asked Randolph.

"Yes," Aaron replied.

"How old were you when it started?"

"I was nine."

"How long did it last?"

"Almost a year…"

"How did it start?"

Aaron sighed.

"When I was going through alter server training. He would—he would abuse me before mass, sometimes after…He was so discreet…"

"Who was your abuser?"

"Conrad Dennehy."

"What exactly did he do to you?"

Aaron paused for a moment.

Then—

"Horrible shit."

"Watch your language, Mr. Sanders," said the judge. "Continue, Mr. Randolph."

"What kinds of horrible things?" asked Randolph.

"He…sometimes, he would…he would fondle me—grope me. I wouldn't have known what to call it back then…That—that was usually it, but…but not always…"

"What else would he do, Aaron? Take your time."

Aaron hesitated again.

Then—

"Sometimes, he would—he would make me touch him like that…I—I can still picture him getting aroused, and it makes me _sick_…That—that wasn't even the worst…"

"What did he do that was the worst?" asked Randolph.

Aaron took a deep breath and then wiped his eyes.

"He would…he would make me…He orally raped me…He wore a condom, but it didn't matter. I hated it. I hated all of it. I hate him. It's his fault I'm so screwed up!"

"Why didn't you tell an adult you trusted, like your mother, the first time it happened—the first time he abused you?"

"Because he fed me the same crap he fed Derek Poston: it's private, don't tell anyone, you'll make God sad, don't be a bad Christian, all that crap…It made me afraid to talk."

"When did you finally talk about it?"

"After…after a few months. I just couldn't take it anymore. I couldn't. So I went to my mom. I was hesitant about it because of what Dennehy said but also because I was afraid my mom would think I was a queer, and I'm not. But she was understanding. She said she'd do everything she could to help me."

"Is what your mother recounted true? About you getting sick and so on?"

"Yes," Aaron replied. "After it happened—after each incident…I'd feel so dirty and violated and anxious…panicky…so much so that I felt sick to my stomach, and as a result, I'd…I'd sometimes vomit…I'd have trouble sleeping. Some nights, I'd think and think and _think_ about the next time I'd have to see him, and I'd get so terrified that I wouldn't sleep at all…Sometimes I'd have such horrible nightmares about him abusing me that…that I would wet the bed—even though I was nine…So he had me doing things I was too old to do and too young to do…"

"How would you say your abuse has affected you?"

"It royally screwed me up," Aaron replied bitterly. "I remember a couple years ago. The only relationship I've ever been in was in completely shot to hell, for example."

"What happened there?"

"One night, we were at her place, and she tells me she really, really likes me. We started kissing—passionately. I should've paid attention to the red flag that went up in my head the moment she slid her tongue into my mouth—but I didn't…I was afraid, but I told myself that she wasn't Dennehy and that I wasn't nine years old. This could be all right. Part of me thought it felt good, so I thought I could ignore the part of me that was beginning to panic. So I started to kiss her back the same way…Then…then she started to—to really touch me, and that's when the flashback came, and…I panicked. It all came back to me—him fondling me, groping me—him forcing his penis into my mouth…So I pulled away and told her I had to leave…She thought it was all her fault—but it wasn't…I ended it…See? See how royally screwed up I am because of him? I'm supposed to be like other people—I'm supposed to like the idea of sex! But I don't—because it makes me think of him. I'll probably never get married, let alone have a girlfriend again…I'm just really screwed up, okay? And it's all his fault! All of it is _his_ fault!"

"So you've had trouble making emotional connections with women?"

"Yes."

"Was Dennehy always abusive towards you?"

"No. At first, he was normal. He was friendly. I actually _trusted_ him…But then he betrayed me and screwed me up…"

Randolph paused to let the emotional weight of Aaron's testimony sink in, which caused a horrible silence to fall over the courtroom.

During that terribly tense moment, Connie wrote 'And now I get to look like the bad guy' on her legal pad, which she then slid across the table for Mike to read

Mike read it, wrote 'You're doing your job, at which you're brilliant' and then slid the legal pad back across the table to her.

Connie smiled when she read it.

She then arose to cross-examine Aaron.

"Aaron," she said, approaching the witness stand, "there is not a soul in this courtroom who doesn't sympathize with you for what Dennehy put you through. But, as you know, there are some questions I have to ask you. First of all—how long did you remain in Connecticut after Dennehy left the Archdiocese of Hartford?"

"We were in Connecticut for a while. We just moved to another city. I started going to a different school, and Mom got two new jobs. We moved to Bridgeport. That's pretty far away from Hartford…I lived there until I went to trade school. Then I got a job in Meridon. I worked there until two years ago."

"Did you think about Dennehy at all during that time?"

"Yes. All the time…"

"How did you know Dennehy was here in New York? That information was never made public."

Aaron sighed and hesitated.

Then—

"I looked everywhere for him. I must've looked into every single Catholic church in the state. It took me months—and I had no luck…Christ, I looked _everywhere_…I told myself that I'd get myself established—you know, living on my own, a job, all that—and then I'd begin looking for him. Then I'd confront the man who'd degraded and humiliated me. I'd make him face me…I was about to give up hope of ever finding him. But then I saw the paper."

"Meaning?"

"I like to read the _New York Times_. I've had a subscription to it for a few years now. One day I saw quite an interesting article in it. It talked about two lawsuits that had been filed against the Archdiocese of New York—one by a priest named Richard Crane for defamation and one by a family I now know is the Postons for the abuse of the minor son by a priest. No one was mentioned by name except Crane and the other person besides Dennehy I will never forget: Clyde Dugan—Archbishop Clyde Dugan—who'd listened to my mother talk about what Dennehy did to me and did _nothing_. That's when I knew I had to get to New York. I figured if I could just get to Dugan, he could help me find Dennehy…It took a few interviews, but I got a job in the Bronx. Simple research told me where the Archdiocese of New York is."

"How long had you been living in New York by the time you went to visit Dugan?"

"A couple years. I kept a close watch on the _Times_ because I was curious about the outcomes of the lawsuits. Plus I wanted to lay low. I felt like timing was everything—I figured while all that was going on, Dugan wouldn't want to talk."

"So you waited until it looked like things had settled down, am I understanding you?"

"Yes. But maybe that was a stupid idea after all. I don't know why I ever thought he'd be straightforward with me. He only cares about himself."

"So when you didn't get the information you wanted from Dugan, what did you do?"

"For a while, I thought I'd just have to do what I did back in Connecticut…But then an idea came to me. I looked up Dennehy and New York City real estate holdings to see if he had an apartment anywhere in the city…You can find anything online if you know where to look…It just seems so obvious now…I should've known that I wouldn't get any answers out of Dugan…"

"So you found out where Dennehy lived by combing through the internet?"

"Yes."

"Not counting your mother's answer to this question, did you know about Connecticut's statute of limitations on child sexual abuse? Did you know that you had thirty years from the time you turned eighteen to report your abuse to the police or the D.A.'s office? Obviously, you turned eighteen while in Connecticut, right?"

"I didn't know about the statute, no. And yeah, I turned eighteen then."

"Meaning legally, you became an adult, right? You were responsible for yourself?"

"Yes."

"Aaron, you just said you thought about Dennehy all the time."

"Yeah."

"So once you became an adult, once you became responsible for yourself, why didn't you report your abuse to the police? Your fate was completely in your hands, and the police would've told you that legally, there was enough time to investigate and prosecute. So why didn't you do that? Did you think they wouldn't care?"

Aaron hesitated.

"It's not that," he finally said. "Miss Rubirosa, you're a very smart woman, I can tell. And you're a prosecutor. So you know how it works…Dennehy was smart. He covered his tracks. Whenever he—whenever he touched me or—or made me touch him…Whenever—whenever he orally raped me…He was discreet. He made _sure_ no one saw us. He—he used a condom…He left no traces! There was nothing! He left _zero_ evidence! It was his word against mine! How is that even a case? He got away with it once! Who's to say he wouldn't have gotten away with it again?"

"How do you know he would've gotten away with it again, Aaron?" Connie asked patiently. "How could you possibly know that? With plenty of time to build a case, can you honestly sit here and tell this court that it would've been impossible to get Dennehy convicted?"

"I don't know…"

"Did you ever actually seek any legal advice, and that's what you were told, or is all that just your own assumptions?"

"It's all my own assumptions."

"I can truthfully tell you, Aaron, that had you gone to the police, they would have taken you seriously and done everything in their power to make sure Dennehy went to prison for what he did to you and Derek. Allegations of abuse are taken very seriously. Like you said, I'm a prosecutor. I know how it works. Does it surprise you to hear that the police have numerous resources at their disposal?"

"I…I guess not."

"Don't you think that they would've been able to locate Dugan, Dennehy, Crane, and the Postons?"

"I suppose they could've…"

"So don't you think now that if given the chance, the Hartford police and D.A.'s office would've been able to get justice for you? Aaron—you're harboring a lot of anger. We get that. We do. Who on earth wouldn't be after being forced to go through what you went through? When you were old enough to decide for yourself, why didn't you seek help? Did your job give you insurance?"

"Yes. I had insurance."

"So why not see a psychologist or psychiatrist? Were you too embarrassed to talk about your abuse?"

"I already relived what happened to me enough!" Aaron replied forcefully. "What was talking to a shrink going to do? Huh? What would that have done for me? It couldn't change the past! It couldn't erase what that perverted prick did to me! Nothing can do that! I wanted him to pay for the hell he put me through!"

"You could've testified against him in court. You could've helped put him in prison. What about that?" Connie asked sternly. "Why not let the law punish him? Aaron, you are here on trial for first degree manslaughter. Hasn't it occurred to you that what you did could completely backfire on you?"

"He ruined my childhood! He humiliated me!" Aaron countered. "He gave me no choice."

"No, Aaron," Connie said. "You did have a choice."

She then turned to the judge.

"Nothing further."

***DOINK!DOINK!***


	26. Summations

**A/N:**** Beginning with this chapter, the fic goes back to being rated T. **

Chapter Twenty-Six

Summations

Supreme Court Trial

Part 70

Randolph stood to give his closing argument.

"Sexual predators," he began. "They are undoubtedly one of the worst aberrations in our society. Not a single person sitting in this courtroom right now believes otherwise. They humiliate and demean women, and they humiliate and demean the most vulnerable members of our society—children. Conrad Dennehy was such a predator. He used his position as a disguise. Clerics are supposed to help people foster a relationship with their respective deities. So who would suspect a priest of something so repugnant? Who would suspect a priest of sexually abusing children?

"My client was such a child. All he wanted was to help out at mass by being an alter server. Conrad Dennehy gained his trust and then betrayed and violated him. He betrayed and violated _a nine-year-old boy._

"Conrad Dennehy stole my client's childhood. You heard his testimony clear as a bell—you saw how much it hurt him to talk about what he went through.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the question is not did Aaron Sanders murder Conrad Dennehy—but _why_. You have seen why. Conrad Dennehy abused my client and by doing so, pushed him over the edge. He thought the church would have Dennehy investigated, as did his mother. Instead, they were paid off and brushed aside, and Dennehy was transferred to another diocese, free to prey on other children—which you know he did.

"Aaron Sanders was abused, betrayed, made to feel as though no one cared, and pushed over the edge—put through something that psychologically damaged him so badly that he snapped.

"This was not a senseless killing. You know full well why he did it. Conrad Dennehy put him through one of the worst things a person can ever go through—let alone a person who was just a child at the time. Aaron Sanders is not a bad person. He's not a sociopath. He is a young man under severe emotional duress. He's not wicked. He's not heartless. So please—give him another chance. Find him not guilty. Thank you."

Mike and Connie exchanged glances, and Connie gave him a smile of encouragement. Mike gave her a small but nonetheless adorable smile before standing up to give his summation.

"Ladies and gentlemen—no one representing you, the people of the state of New York, in this trial—not myself, not my partner, not Mr. McCoy—believes Conrad Dennehy was a good person. Quite the contrary. He was a despicable human being. But ladies and gentlemen, he is not the one on trial here for first degree manslaughter—that would be the defendant, Aaron Sanders.

"The defense wants you to sympathize with him, and you should. But not to the extent Mr. Randolph wants you to—not to the extent of completely ignoring the real issue here, which is the circumventing of our justice system.

"We as a society create and enact laws to establish organization and order and to protect people from those who would infringe upon their individual rights. Our justice system was created and is carried out for that very purpose—to protect those whose individual rights have been infringed upon and to punish those who have infringed upon those rights.

"The glorification and glamorization of vigilantism can be seen everywhere in our culture. We are oversaturated by the media with the message that it's acceptable. All one has to do, for example, is watch Superman or Batman. But ladies and gentlemen, that is not realistic at all. The defense expects from you an enormous suspension of disbelief here. But this is not Metropolis. This is not Gotham. This is New York City. This is the real world. And in the real world, we have a justice system by which we all must abide.

"Aaron Sanders was the victim of a terrible crime. No one here is disputing that. But the situation changed when he chose to take the law into his own hands. Because of that choice and the corresponding action of killing Conrad Dennehy, Aaron Sanders went from being just a victim to both a victim and a criminal.

"The defense wants you to believe Aaron had no choice. But that's not true at all. He _did_ have a choice. The Connecticut statute gives _plenty_ of time to build a case. He could have gone to the police after reading the article about the lawsuits and told them everything. The police, as my partner pointed out, could have found Dennehy, Dugan, Crane, and the Postons, thereby bolstering Aaron's case. Dennehy would've been around to confess to what he did and would, of course, have been put in prison for a _very_ long time.

"You heard testimony from Derek Poston and other sexual abuse victims. _None of them_, as you heard, felt the need to murder their abusers. They all testified to wanting to see their abusers go to prison—thankfully, they all did. Except for Derek Poston. Because Aaron Sanders bypassed the justice system and killed Dennehy, Derek Poston will never get the satisfaction of seeing his abuser go to prison.

"What if Dennehy had other victims who wanted to come forward? Those victims don't have Dennehy alive to confess to what he did to them. Key evidence died when Conrad Dennehy died. And in a way—death was Dennehy's escape. A corpse can't be prosecuted. A corpse can't be put in prison.

"Yes, Aaron Sanders carries a lot of anger and psychological trauma. He endured what is basically a form of torture. But he had a choice. He could have notified the police and gone to therapy and gotten Dennehy put away for a very long time. But instead, he chose not to help himself and to take the law into his own hands by killing Dennehy, thus disrespecting and circumventing our justice system.

"As I said earlier, we as a society create and enact laws to establish organization and order. Without laws, without organization and order, we're left with anarchy, where people are guaranteed neither protection nor justice.

"Ladies and gentlemen, you have the ability to send an important message: that it is not acceptable in our society to circumvent the justice system. So my partner and I ask you—find Aaron Sanders guilty of manslaughter. Thank you."

***DOINK!DOINK!***


End file.
